Being Aerys (GOT)
by Xersin
Summary: A self insert, into none other than Aerys II Targaryen. What shall be the changes wrought by this event? Utter doom or a glorious era. Read and discover. (TenDarks's masterpiece)
1. Chapter 1 - Fire and Blood

Authors note: This is not mine, just re-uploading it for a greater audience to enjoy. This brilliant masterpiece is written by TenDark. Everything else, is of GRRM.

Volume 1

Fire And Blood

Rhaella was pretty and nice and courteous, but it didn't take much of a genius, I.e. me to know that she wasn't at all that hanged up on me. In fact, I doubted she was all that fond of me.

Mind you though, because I was sort of Aerys yet at the same time, not really Aerys, I wasn't all that fond of her either. Sure, I liked her as much as my sister, but not of the like that would mean spending the rest of my life married to her.

That was another thing.

I didn't want to marry her. At all.

Fuck that.

She was my sister! What sort of sick fucks thought it wou-. Oh right, I was now a Targaryen. Had forgotten about that.

Still though, didn't stop me from going green and emptying my stomach contents onto the floor when I realized who the pretty girl with the platinum blonde hair which actually turned out to be silver was. Somewhere in my retching, I must have woken her up as she had sat up in the bed we had been sharing.

Thankfully, we were both clothed. Her in a nightgown that didn't really try and hide the figure that she was certainly developing. Another thing I figured dear old daddy must have figured would be a good idea to make her wear so that our relationship could hurry along and blossom and for us to discover that we wanted each other and all that nonsense.

"Aerys, what's wrong?" She asked. Like I said, me and her weren't all that fond of each other, but she was still my sister and I was still her brother, so some sort of alarm must have crept into her mind when she had seen me retching, "Do you need me to fetch someone?"

I fell of the bed, surprised at her sudden awakening and scrambled as far away as possible from her. I realised I looked silly before I stopped and got to my feet. Though it was night, our shared chambers had the benefit of feeling the full breadth of silver light from the moon.

I cleared my throat, "...We are not married are we?"

Rhaella blinked for a moment before frowning, "No." She said to me simply. She held the covers tightly to her body, "I intent to go to our wedding bed a maiden, Aerys. At least let me have that."

So we were still betrothed? I did a little miniature victory pump with the hand. Then I tasted the bile that was in my mouth and on my lips. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, "I don't plan on marrying you."

She frowned some, "I never planned on marrying you. Father wills it and it shall be done."

Father was Prince Jaehaerys, future King Jaehaerys the Second of His Name. From my recollection of the World of Ice and Fire, he was a sickly king, a bit more conservative than what King Egg would have liked, what with marrying his sister and everything.

"Grandfather wished that Father married Celia Tully and Mother wed Luthor Tyrell, and we both know how that ended up."

A frown came across that pretty face of my sister and it was scary how I thought of actually marrying her wouldn't be so bad. I certainly wouldn't go as bonkers as Aerys did. Probably.

That was probably the Aerys part of me. The part that thought marrying his sister was fine as long as he could still sheathe his sword in other sheathes that did not belong to his sister. I felt the urge to throw up again at the thought of boning my own sister.

"What are you saying?" She eventually asked, her eyes narrowed some but a light behind that suspicion.

I grinned widely in the little light that we had, "Mother and Father defied Grandfather in their choice of husband and wife...so why can't we? You can marry that Ser Bonnifer you are so smitten with."

Rhaella had the grace to flush and look struck at the same time, or maybe that was nothing more than a trick of the light, "Ser Bonnifer is merely a landed knight. No fit consort for a princess!" It sounded as if she certainly believed that, but still seemed like she would prefer to marry the man if she had the choice.

"Then some Dornishman, then." I said with a throw of the hands into the air, "They are pretty laissez-faire to the whole paramour thing. Marry one and keep Ser Bonnifer to yourself. Like a sworn-shield or something like that."

She looked at me strangely, "What? Laissez-faire? What does that even mean? And what are you talking about?"

Huh, it seemed as if French was not a thing here. Who could have known?

"Don't give me that look. You know how the Dornish feel when it comes to having lovers...I suppose though, that whatever husband you wish to have, must be open about that part of the relationship." I edged towards the bed once more, "Come on, think about it. We've never really liked each other Rhaella and Grandfather would actually love for us to marry outside the family, to at least help him bring along his vision and reforms he has for the realm."

"Why should we marry? Because some funny old woman that Jenny of Oldstones had brought to court had said so? Our family is embroiled too much into the readings of prophecies and the likes. I like to think that it's best we leave them alone and try not so hard in bringing them to fruit. Aerys, you know him right? The person I'm named after? He read somewhere that the prince that was promised wouldn't come from his line and therefore never bothered to see to his duty. His Hand ran the kingdom for him and I doubt he even knew what his cock was for, other than pissing."

Mind you though, I might have been disparaging of prophecies and the whole lot since I knew that some of them held some sort of sliver of truth to them. But see, I was of the same mind as Tyrion when it came to prophecy; it was a half-trained mule. It might look useful at first glance, but more often than not, it would end up kicking you in the face.

That, and the fact that I knew quite a bit about the future from the books and everything. Who the prince that was promised was, I didn't know and I particularly didn't give a damn. The Others could still die even without the help of some idiot with a sword that glowed and was on fire.

If I was going to live in this world and be fighting ice demons in the future, I would do so because I know there are going to be ice demons and zombies coming down from the north. I wanted to see how they would fair against rudimentary flame throwers.

Mind you though, that was if I didn't go mad or didn't end up getting killed because of this or that.

This was Westeros after all. Someone, eventually, was going to try and kill me, even if I do an absurdly good job as king.

...I just realised that the Tragedy of Summerhall was going to have to be a thing.

Or not.

Prince Duncan was already out of the running for marrying a commoner for the throne and dad was now heir to the Iron Throne. He ruled for three years and didn't really make much for an impact apart from the whole Ninepenny-holy shit, the Ninepenny kings! Have they already taken over the Disputed Lands and Tyrosh? Fuck me, that was something that would need to be addressed.

Oh yeah, then there was the Tarbecks-Reynes as well.

"Are you saying we break our betrothals?" She asked silently, "That would dishonour us...Father would be angry at us."

"Fuck Father. He married Mother for love, why shouldn't we do the same?"

She eyed me with a certain kind of spark in her eyes, "The Lady Joanna? Is that who you wish to marry?"

Joanna? Who the fuck was she-oh. Joanna Lannister. Cousin to Tywin Lannister, one of my two best buddies, which was really surprising. Tywin having friends.

A best friend at that.

Why oh why, Aerys thought of screwing with Tywin after everything he had done was beyond me.

Then when I thought of Joanna, I started feeling all tingly and everything. Butteflies were flapping in my belly, when her face came to mind, it was all smiles and sunshine and all that crap. It seems I had a thing for my sister's lady-in-waiting. Well, not me, per se, but Aerys. Aerys had a thing for Joanna and I was now Aerys, so I had a thing for Joanna.

Problem was, even though Tywin rarely showed any form of emotion, it didn't take much of a genius to see that his eyes softened some whenever he talked about her or looked at her or whenever she was in the same room as him.

A feeling that Joanna seemed to share with Tywin as well.

Something that Aerys had started noticing and becoming rather jealous about.

Did I want to marry Joanna? Probably could, me being prince and second in line to the fucking throne after Dad. Ser Jason Lannister would more than likely beg me to take his daughter to wife.

But I wasn't going to screw Tywin like that. No need to make the man hate me before he had even started his job of being Hand of the King when I come to the Throne. This Tywin was still reasonable and less prickly. Needed the guy to you know, like me since I doubted I would rate all that high when it came to administration.

"I believe Lady Joanna has her eyes set on someone else." I replied to my sister evenly, "It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to try and take her eyes away from the prize that she wants."

"You are giving up on her? Just like that?" Rhaella asked, incredulous.

"Yes."

"Then who, then?"

That was actually a good question? Who did I want to marry, that was not Joanna or Rhaella?

It had to be a lady of good standing and that would come from one of the Great Houses or a powerful one. My mind went north, why? Cause I liked the Starks.

That, and the fact I wanted to see if I could get another Brynden 'Bloodraven' born again. That would be awesome.

I scratched at my chin, "I wonder if the Starks have any daughters at hand." If I remembered my timeline correctly, Rickard was either the Lord of Winterfell as of now and already married or was still a teenager being groomed for the position.

GRRM had never been rather accurate to some of the ages of the characters.

"You would marry a northern barbarian?" Rhaella asked, appalled.

I looked at her strangely. Did her words surprise me? Yes they did, although in truth, I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. "I really wouldn't say that to their faces. They are one of our vassals. That and the Starks are honourable and true."

"But a northerner as your future queen?" She asked, "That has never happened before. Most people would be shocked more often than not. The Starks don't even follow the Seven."

"Grandmother doesn't follow the Seven. She follows the old gods like the rest of her family." I scratched at my ridiculously silky smooth mane of hair sitting atop the scalp that was not mine, but yet was still sort of mine, "I don't think anyone has brought up that little thing for people to make a fuss over."

That seemed to take her aback as she realized that was actually true. Queen Betha Blackwood or commonly known as Black Betha followed the old gods. Sure, her children had been anointed in the Faith of the Seven, mostly because it was smart to do so and stupid not to do so.

One of the titles of the king was Protector of the Faith. It would be rather weird if the Protector of the Faith didn't actually follow the Faith or was anointed in it.

It was sort of how the British throne could only go to a member of the family who followed the Anglican Church. If not, you were considered out of the succession. I'm sure it was probably more confusing than that, but that was the best of my recollection when it came to that particular subject, despite being British myself.

Actually, I was Westerosi now, wasn't I?

"Father will be angry at us." Rhaella eventually breathed out. I was almost sure that she had whispered that due to the fact that she had spoken so quietly.

I found myself rolling my eyes. Again, "Just as Grandfather was mad at Father and Mother for disobeying him and marrying each other against his wishes and for the betterment of the realm. They were rather selfish in that regard."

Half of the problems that could be said to have plagued the Targaryens in the future could honestly be placed on Jaehaerys' shoulders. If he had actually done a political marriage that would have garnered supporters for Egg to go about making the lives of the smallfolk better, the Targaryens could still very well much have been in power in the original timeline, because honestly, my presence here was going to crew the timeline up so badly it wasn't even funny.

The butterflies were already flapping their wings, after all, I did plan on breaking my betrothal to my own sister no less.

Rhaella frowned and pursed her lips, "B-But..." She seemed wholely intent on keeping up this charade. Why I didn't know.

I knew she didn't want to marry me just like I didn't want to marry her.

So why the hold up? To be fair, the hold up was starting to get slightly annoying. I started dressing myself, "You can just sit there and question whether what I'm about to do will make father happy or not. Me? I'm going to go find myself a bride. You are my sister Rhaella. And that's all I intend for you to be." I shook my head as I put on a pair of boots that I had found lying about, "The whole Targaryen incest thing. It's really strange and weird and not at all that helpful considering what it has done to our family. Contrary to popular belief, we are not above the laws of gods and men. We still die, don't we?"

I didn't give her time to answer as I quickly left the room, closing the door behind me. As I went through the castle, heading towards some of the guest chambers to find two people I was on friendly terms with, I had completely forgotten about the puddle of sick that I had just left in the company of Rhaella.

That, and the Kingsguard knight that had suddenly started shadowing me the moment that I had walked out of that room. To be honest, I didn't care much about him. He was sworn to obey, wasn't he?

And what exactly was he going to do? Stop me from going north and finding some girl to marry because, why the hell not?

I liked to think that this plan was far better than the one of me marrying Rhaella. At least we could be cordial with each other knowing that we didn't have to share the same bed.

I would have honestly thrown myself out of a window if that had come to pass. Damn whatever part of Aerys thought that the notion of sharing his bed with Rhaella wasn't so bad.


	2. Chapter 2

As I watched the oars dip into the water before rising once again as we were propelled forwards towards the north, I once again found myself questioning my earlier excitement about finding myself in a living bonafide swords and magic world.

Mind you though, I hadn't been all that particularly happy in the beginning anyway. I wouldn't have minded ended up in say, Middle-earth, why? Because at least in that world, good will prevail over evil. In westeros, that was all thrown up into the air, what with it's varying shades of grey and sometimes, lighter shades of black.

Was there even such a thing called a lighter shade of black? Black was still black. It couldn't get any lighter than it already was.

I do believe when people think of darkness, black exists for a reason.

Anyway, I was going off tangent. I was heading north to find myself a Stark bride. Failing that, I was sure there would be more than enough women of First Men ancestry to marry.

Once again, I was going for another Bloodraven.

I know the odds are a longshot, after all, Egg had married a Blackwood, believers in the old gods and of First Men descent, yet that hadn't resulted in any of his children being a warg or greenseer or whatever.

Then again, the Blackwoods had intermarried quite a few times with those of pesky Andals with their Seven and their superior writing system and all that bullshit. Perhaps a proper First Men House like the Starks would be more agreeable in setting up the right situation for another Bloodraven.

And anyway, something about me was clearly magical. One doesn't simply wake up in the body of a fictional character and not question what the hell is going on.

I certainly had, for like a few seconds before I realised what was happening. It had happened, so no point in smarting over the small details, right?

And anyway, it was probably the act of some bullshit Omni-potent being that was clearly bored and needed something to do to amuse itself. Throwing some random person into the body of Aerys seemed something right up the alley of such a being.

What did the internet call such things? Rob? Asp? Eh, I can't remember and couldn't really careless. It had happened, no need to fuss over the small details.

Just needed to get myself a Stark wife, failing that, another notable First Men House. Failing that, I can just go north and get myself a wildling.

Stealing works both ways, right?

...Probably should shelve that thought for now. I don't think such a union would fly with any of the westerosi.

And I didn't particularly like the thought of having my throat slit during the night when I'm sleeping. Might as well marry Rhaella if that is the future I would be looking forward to.

I was so lost in my thoughts about finding a wife that I more or less jumped when someone spoke from behind me, "What are you thinking about so hard?"

I turned my head so fast that I might as well near broke my own neck doing so. Or give myself whiplash. Both didn't particularly sleep well with me, "Steffon." I breathed. A tingle in my neck told me that I had turned my head too fast and I was paying for it with some sore neck muscles.

The youth and future heir of Storm's End smiled some as he walked up to the gunwale to stand beside me. For someone that was only twelve years old, the little bugger was taller than someone his age had the right to be.

If I didn't know anybody, I would swear that he was pushing six foot and whatever he did in the training grounds was clearly working for him, that and puberty as he had no visible baby fat on that stupidly handsome face of his.

"Coz," He yawned as he leaned forward, "What a beautiful day it is today, is it not? Nothing but the blue sky above us, and the blue of the narrow sea in front of us."

I thumbed in the opposite direction of where we were staring, "Lands in the other direction."

"Why would I want to see land? I'm a Baratheon of Storm's End. I grew up seeing the sea and the feel of it's fury."

"I suppose that explains why your chambers face the sea then."

"Not that I love spending my time in the capital among my extended family, I do miss home. Might as well try and accommodate myself as best as I can."

See, I had read somewhere that Aerys, Steffon and Tywin had been the best of buddies back in the good old days. I have had younger friends, but when I think of best friends, I always thought of someone who was more or less among my age.

Steffon was twelve.

Tywin was sixteen.

And I was smack dab in the middle at fourteen.

Like I said, I had younger friends and older friends, but most of my more solid mates were solidly my age, or a year younger. I knew people that were years younger than me and older than me, but that didn't mean I had taken my time to hang around with them unless, you know, reasons.

I was never that sociable, so that might be the reason as to why I found this rather supposed tight knit group of nobles somewhat perplexing.

What exactly did they talk about and what exactly did they have in common? From Aerys' own memories, I can understand his attachment to Steffon. He was his cousin and therefore family. Tywin was more of a move by Aerys himself to get somewhat closer to Joanna so he could bone her or marry her or whatever he-I-whatever meant to do with her.

I supposed Tywin befriending me as well was more of a strategical move more than anything else. I was the heir after Jaehaerys and it wouldn't hurt him to be on good terms with me, especially if he was going to go on some sort of agenda in the future.

Like trying to make a certain daughter of his queen. I had decided to let Joanna and Tywin go ahead. Like I had said before, didn't need to have him pissed off at me before the universe threw something in my direction to make him dislike me.

Truth be told, I don't think he liked me all that much.

Speaking of futures wives and all that, how the hell did the Steffon and Cassana Estermont match ever come to pass? The Estermont's weren't really all that powerful of a noble family or all that prominent in the Stormlands...then again, my opinion was solely based on Cersei's point of view from when she recollected her time visiting her in-laws.

And Cersei wasn't the most reliable of narrators around.

That could not be stressed enough.

I groaned to myself as I realised that my heir was going to be stuck with Cersei as his betrothed. Like I said, I didn't plan on having Tywin as my enemy. He was certainly far smarter than me when it came to the whole politicking thing.

Mind you though, I doubt his daughter being betrothed to whatever heir I sprout from the seed of my loins would be enough for Tywin unless she was actually queen...great. Now I had to live with the paranoia that Tywin might actually try to kill me to expedite the process.

Brill. Just brill.

"What's wrong?" Steffon asked, having noticed me groaning for no apparent reason from his perspective.

I rubbed at my temple to rid the incoming headache my paranoia was causing me. And I wasn't even king yet, "Nothing. Just thinking."

"You've been doing that for the past month we've been at sea." He pursed his lips for a moment, in quiet thought, "...I don't think I've seen you think so much, unless you were trying to find yourself into the skirts of some lady or serving girl. Actually, I'm surprised I haven't found you writing into that little book you've suddenly started carrying around."

I absently patted my hand at the inner pocket of the leather coat that I wore and was assured at the feeling of the notebook underneath the fine leather that Steffon was alluding to, "Decided to give my mind a break from all the brainstorming I've been doing. Tiresome work."

A confused look came upon the young lordling, "Brainstorming?"

If Steffon had been waiting for me to clear up his understanding of the term, he was going to have to wait, for all I did, was simply nod, "Yes, brainstorming."

The notebook held everything I could remember about the modern world. You know, the world that consisted of upright, moral people that found the killing of children utterly horrifying and the crossing of the moral event horizon. Were women had the same rights as men...well, near enough equality anyway. Far better than this place.

Were little things such as air travel were possible. Because really, a month at sea? I've been on a cruise before. It didn't take that boat months just to travel from one part of Europe to another, and I am positive the distance between the start and finish was a couple thousand miles between.

...Although, this ship sailed on the power of both a sail and rowing, whilst the ship I was thinking of was a modern thing that relied on the power of the combustion engine and propellers and all that.

I already had an inkling of what I was going to introduce at the very least to improve the lot of the people of westeros. Gunpowder was probably not one of those things.

A society so entrenched in feudalism being introduced to gunpowder? Holy shit.

That was a whole can of worms that I didn't want to open.

And anyway, who was to say that cordite or the ingredients for gunpowder reacted the same in this world compared to that of Earth? I was pretty positive that there was more to the Medieval Stasis on planetos that couldn't all be attributed to the general rule of Magic, Ain't Got To Explain Shit.

The same could be applied to electricity...then again, I had seen lightning flash in the distance from a storm, so electricity was a possibility. Just needed to find myself a lodestone.

Failing that, I could rig up some sort of generator, I suppose. Just need iron and some fire. Thank you the Time Machine Poster.

I was even more thankful of my memory that could recall the odd fact I have read about from out of the blue like it was nothing.

"Is Tywin below?" I asked, out of the blue.

Steffon flashed an amused grin on his face, "Aye. I suppose it's true then, all cats, even lion's don't take kindly to water."

I held back a laugh, "Don't say that to his face. He probably won't take it kindly." Tywin never laughed or smiled. I think I remembered something from the books about him not trusting laughter or something like that.

A quirk that had manifested itself at having his father laughed at by his own bannermen and probably by every other lord in westeros.

"Unless he's giving you one of those looks of his, I can never tell with him." Steffon shrugged as he looked off into the distance, "If I strain my eyes, do you think I can see one of the Free Cities from here?"

"Not even with the best telescopes the Myrish are able to build." I replied with a grunt. The narrow sea was anything but narrow. Well, yes, it was blatantly the planetos version of the English Channel or the North Sea, but I thought it was more akin to the Channel more than anything else.

Apparently, with a fast enough ship and with good wind on your side, at best, it would be a week crossing it. Not even a month at the worst of times.

The only problem was the constant storms that periodically happened in the body of water, especially during autumn and winter where they increased in frequency.

"Telescope?" Steffon sounded out the word as if he had never heard of it before...which was more than likely true since he had never heard of the word before. His expression had moulded to fit that of confusion, "What's a telescope?" He asked with childish curiosity.

Once again, I sometimes forgot that he was twelve. I was the youngest of four children, so I didn't particularly know what it was like to have a younger sibling and I figured the relationship between Aerys and Steffon had been something of an Ersatz-sibling relationship or something along them lines.

It seems it was now up to me to carry on that particular duty, especially since I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. Youngest child here, don't forget that.

"Far-Eyes." I replied easily enough.

"Then call them that then, not that strange word you used." He shook his head, coal black hair allowed to grow somewhat long being unsettled by the movement and the wind, "I've never heard anyone call Far-Eyes telescopes before. Stop inventing words."

I'm not inventing words you little bastard. Telescopes were telescopes, not this Far-Eyes the Myrish called them. I decided to add that to my list. If things that existed here were called something back home and existed here but by a different word? I was going to make sure that they started calling those things by word instead of the native one.

I allowed myself to sheepishly laugh some, "Sorry, sorry, but I can't promise anything."

Seagulls had become a regular sighting over the past few days and that had been the sign that they were nearing White Harbour. Ser Joffrey Bywater, the captain of the Conciliator, the war galley that I had commandeered for this journey north had been kind enough to tell him when they had entered northern waters and how far, by his estimation that they were from White Harbour.

Their constant squawking had become annoying enough over the past few days, and he had little time to get used to their calls. But he had found himself getting used the work of the sailors on the ships as they went about making sure that everything was nice and proper like.

I noticed that some of the sailors seemed to be doing something to the sail and that the oars had started to taper off in rhythm and the speed at which they were pulled. Since I didn't know jack about sailing, I decided to pull some random guy that probably knew what he was doing to the side and ask some rather pointed questions and hopefully get some answers.

Turns out the sailor I pulled from the side was less a sailor and more of a cabin boy than anything else. Samwell Waters. The bastard son of the captain of the ship, "My prince," the youth squeaked as he quickly inclined himself at the waist in a hurried bow, "How can I be of service?"

"You can straighten yourself up for starters." I told him. The whole bowing to me thing because I was royalty? I still wasn't used to it. People never bowed to me. It sort of made me feel a little awkward.

The boy nearly fell flat on his arse at how quickly he straightened himself up, his momentum nearly toppling himself backwards. Steffon had tried hard to stifle a chuckle but that had failed badly. I coffed him on the back of the head, "Hey!" The young lordling protested as he rubbed at the back of his head.

I ignored him as I directed my attention at the bastard cabin boy. Ser Joffrey immediately gained a notch of respect on my books. It's not every day you come across a highborn, no matter how big or small, especially as small as House Bywater was, taking care of his own gets.

Even if they were born outside the marriage bed.

The man needed a promotion, I decided. I motioned at the crewmen working at the sails, "What's happening?"

Samwell turned his head towards the crewmen and the sails. He licked at his lips as he answered, "Preparing to dock in White Harbour, my prince."

Dock? Eh no. Docking was bad. Travelling by ship was far faster than travelling by land to Winterfell, but I doubted a ship was as fast as a raven.

See, the reason why I had decided to sail to the north in the first place instead of getting myself a horse and some company was because there were a lot of castles, holdfasts and what not between King's Landing and Winterfell.

As I spent more time in Aerys' body, my mind and his mind living somewhat harmoniously in one head, probably because my mind was the dominant one, a lot of his memories had bled out to me over the past month. I learned quite a few things.

One of them was to make sure that the next chance I get, to check with a maester to make sure I hadn't caught any sot of venereal disease from the amount of women Aerys had shagged. Bloody hell, fourteen years of age and he had already shagged more women than I heard in twenty-five years of life.

My pride being hurt had tried to somewhat make me feel better about myself by telling me that Aerys was a prince. And most of the women he took to bed were servants. They couldn't very well deny a prince now, could they? Especially one as charming and handsome as Aerys, because I will admit this, Aerys was fine.

The white haired bastard made me feel jealous...and I was him. Bloody hell. Talk about narcissism taken to a whole new level.

Didn't stop me from checking myself out in the nearest mirror or other reflection giving surface and pouting and all that bullshit. The novelty of this action was going to ware off soon enough, but until then, I was going to keep checking myself out.

I had never thought myself particularly good looking back home...and now? Thank you whatever being that brought me here. Because let's face it, handsome people have it easy.

Right, back to why docking in White Harboru was bad. See, Rhaella might not have liked me, but she was a complete and utter daddy's girl. She adored Prince Jaehaerys, our Father. Even when he betrothed the two of us together, she couldn't bring herself to be mad at him for more than a few moments.

She hadn't even protested that much before quietly agreeing with our Father's wishes. I now regretted telling her about my plans to go north because she would most certainly have told someone by now of my intentions, especially after me leaving half-way through the night.

That's why I took a ship instead of going over land. Father would have sent messages to lords between me and Winterfell to hold me until someone came to fetch me and my two partners in crime. I hadn't told Rhaella how I planned on making my way north, but it didn't take much of a genius to figure out the quickest way would be the sea route.

So the Manderly's probably had received word to look out for me and detain me as well, or escort me back to King's Landing.

"Fuck that." I muttered underneath my breath.

Unfortunately, not quiet enough as Samwell looked up at me, perplexed, "My prince?"

"Tell the men that we are heading up the White Knife. Get us as close to Winterfell as possible."

"The White Knife? I'm only a cabin boy, I can't give such an order."

"Then tell such to your captain."

"At once, my prince." He turned on the balls of his feet, ready to run-off to find his father who also happened to be his captain.

"And Samwell?"

Before running off, he glanced back at me, "Yes, my prince?"

"Address me as 'Sir'. Less of a mouthful." I decided to go with the British route of addressing royalty. It was simple and not at all confusing or a mouthful.

The boy nodded, "Yes, my pr-Sir!" He stopped himself short before scurrying off.

Steffon raised an eyebrow, "When did you become a knight?"

"Sir," I stressed the word, "Not ser. There's a difference."

"How?"

"It's sir with an 'I'."

Steffon looked at me without much of an expression on his face. He then sighed and rubbed at the side of his temple, "Another one of those words you've invented isn't it? I thought you said you were going to stop that."

"I never said such a thing."

XxX

The White Knife was a large river, but the more they travelled further upstream towards Winterfell, it had slowly got narrower and narrower and more dangerous as well. The currents were swift and rocky shoots jutted out from underneath the river as the water got shallower further inland we went. It made rowing all the more dangerous as oars were in danger of being split and splintered.

Eventually, the anchor was dropped some few miles of one of the White Knife's offshoots that went west towards Castle Cerwyn. Thankfully, a small village happened to have been nearby and we were able to buy a few horses for my company that was going to head the rest of the way to Winterfell by land.

I could have easily commandeered the horses as not only a noble, but as royalty, but I was taking away some valuable animals from some hardworking farmers and fishermen. I had them compensated fairly.

I don't think any of them had ever seen a gold dragon before.

"What was your plan, exactly?" The famed future Lion of Casterly Rock asked as he rode beside me, not a few hours into our journey west towards Winterfell.

Ser Joffrey hadn't been all that willing to allow royalty and lordlings to leave his ship without some protection, so he had ordered a troop of marines to act as escort for us. They followed behind on foot. The villagers didn't have that many horses and I didn't want to buy all of them anyway.

And I hadn't exactly planned for the escorts anyway. Only enough horses for me, Steffon, Tywin and Ser Gwayne Gaunt. The young Kingsguard knight that had shadowed me all the way back from King's Landing that faithful knight.

From the look that came onto his face sometimes, I think he knew that he was well over his head. From what I could recall from Aerys' memories, he had only been recently inducted into the Order of the Kingsguard.

"Go north and find myself a Stark wife." I eyed Tywin from the corner of my eyes, "I think I have said this before Tywin. Even I know you can remember a little detail like that."

"It's not about what I cannot remember, it's about why you would want to come so far in search of a wife in the first place. There are close enough highborn ladies in the surrounding lands for you to take to wife."

"Ahh, but you see, none of them are a Stark."

A breeze of cold northern wind bit at our exposed skin. I shivered somewhat as I felt green eyes flecked with gold glance at me, "I fail to see how that is important."

Steffon sneezed from the other side of me, "Exactly what I've been saying! All he keeps saying is reasons. Whatever that means." He shook his head as he rubbed at his nose. I hope the little bastard hadn't caught a chill, but he seemed robust enough. Hell, he looked to have more muscle than me and Tywin. And we were older. I didn't want to fuck up the timeline that badly by killing of the only heir to Storm's End just like that, "And who exactly says that there is a Stark daughter for you to marry anyway? This is a waste of time."

"There are two Stark daughters. Lyarra and Branda Stark. Daughters of Rodrik Stark and Arya Flint." Tywin answered. He was quite for a moment, "I believe Lyarra has recently been married to her cousin Rickard Stark."

I grinned at Steffon, "See? This wasn't a waste of time at all. There's still a Stark to go around."

The heir to Storm's End ignored me and then proceeded to glare at Tywin past me, "How do you even know this? Seven hells, Ty, the north barely interacts with the south. I didn't even know about any marriage of the Stark heir to his cousin."

Rickard Stark married his cousin? Eh, that was just about as gross as the whole sister incest thing. Sure, some cultures from around the world thought that marrying cousins was fine, but certainly not me. Cousins were a little bit too close to home for me and my sensibilities.

But then again, genetics on planetos seemed to work to different rules from those of Earth. For a family that had been inbreeding for hundreds of years, perhaps even more with relatively little input of fresh blood, the Targaryens were certainly rather healthy considering everything else.

No webbed toes or fingers or anything like that.

I'd checked.

Thoroughly.

Everything seemed to be in fine working order. My mind as well. Hopefully, I didn't take on Aerys' propensity for madness when I get older.

"I thought of it required learning. To know of the affairs of the other Great Houses of the realm."

"Well, at least I now know at least how you spend your time. Reading and gossiping by the looks of it." Steffon then thumbed at me, "And he spends it at the nearest skirt he can find."

"Hey!" I objected, "That's not true!" Aerys actually did other things that chasing after the serving girls and ladies of court. Like being a dutiful squire for his uncle Prince Duncan, attending to his studies...which he wasn't all that diligent in.

Could have been worse, I suppose.

The north was vast. Much of the land was uncultivated and somewhat surprisingly, it sort of reminded me of Scotland or northern England. Hell, the constant barrage of green we saw as we made our way towards Winterfell made me think of the Yorkshire country side.

It had a certain beauty to it.

Much of the land was green and from the occasional village with farms and the lot that we passed, it was easy enough to tell that the northerners could grow shit up here. If they actually cultivated most of their land with larger fields and the likes, I was sure that when winter came, it wouldn't be so bad.

Then I realised of the technological limitations they had. Yes, they had the plough, but that could only take you so far, and they sowed their seeds manually, no seed drill or the likes.

The seed drill did wonders when it came to increasing productivity and the yield of plants harvested by damn near nine times. That was also one thing I planned to introduce.

One of the subjects we had learned in History class during my time in school was about the Agrarian Revolution in Britain, along with the Industrial Revolution, after all, the two revolutions were connected with each other. Without the former, the latter wouldn't have happened as easily as it had come.

Although some of the information was missing from my memory, I was sure with a maester at hand and a good blacksmith, we would be able to come to some sort of working seed drill.

A fog had descended during the night when they had made camp and when they had woken up, the fog still hung about. We had made small progress in the early hours of the morning due to that, but as the day became longer, the fog dissipitated.

When it had completely cleared, I don't think I was the only one to notice the large shadow that loomed in the distance. I squinted my eyes, as if that would help see the shadow any clearer than it already was, "Binoculars, or even a telescope! How I would kill for such a thing." Perhaps I could be able to get some Myrish glass-makers to make me some binoculars? I had tried the telescope and I didn't like it.

I'm sure I could explain how a binocular functioned...probably. Leave the rest to them. And why would I have to Myr for such a thing anyway? Why not get it done by good westerosi hands?

Steffon made a sound as he looked into the distance as well, "Would that be Winterfell then?"

"Too far to tell, but it is said that Winterfell is the greatest castle of the north." Tywin looked at the shadow in the distance with a look that was completely passive of any other emotion. No doubt, Winterfell didn't compare all that much to Casterly Rock.

A horse behind us neighed as Ser Gwayne cantered forth, his head looking off into the distance, but not in the direction of the shadow, "Riders, my prince."

"Sir," I corrected the knight as I and the others looked in the direction he was staring off in. And he was right, there were riders coming our way, banners flapping and swaying in the wind. As they got closer, the banner became clearer, a grey direwolf on white, "Stark men." I grinned, "Shall we go meet them?"

"Why bother? They are coming to us, are they not?" Steffon asked, thankfully, whatever chill he had got disappearing over the past few days.

He was right, so we waited for them to come to us. It was a company of five men...I supposed it would be more accurate to call them a section instead of a company...or a fireteam if we really want to get technical, even if they didn't have any form of fire-arms.

Pretty sure a squad was only considered a squad when there was ten people or something. Most war RPGs I played had ten soldiers in a squad, but I'm getting off topic, so here we were, waiting for the section of five men to come to us.

The riders slowed down from the gallop they had been riding in before coming to a slow trot then stopping in front of us. In the lead was a man who seemed to of an age with my Father, perhaps, the grey hairs at the side of his slicked back brown hair made it difficult to tell. He had a small scar just underneath his eye and he was dressed in heavy wools and a fur wolf-pelt cloak.

Grey eyes seemed to take us all in for a moment before they settled on me. In a moment, I figured the man had sized me up and quickly decided that if we came to blows, he would be able to break me over his knee like a twig.

I was of the same mind.

"So I suspect you would be the princeling that has the capital all in a fluster." The man said, speaking first.

I'm pretty sure I heard some gasps from my entourage and even the northmen that had accompanied this man seemed to widen their eyes at the supposed rudeness of this manner. I decided then and there that I liked him.

"Is it?" I asked, "The capital I mean. All flustered up?"

An amused looking smile came across the man's face, "Not every day a raven from the Crown Prince himself perches in our little coop telling us to be aware of the coming of his son." He leaned forward on his horse, "So why are you here then, Prince Aerys?"

"I believe we are at a disadvantage my lord," Tywin cut in, voice as calm and emotionless as ever. The man's head panned towards the golden haired lion, "It seems as if you are knowing of us, but the same cannot be said of us."

"Gods lad, speak with a bit more warmth would you? I'm a Stark and I don't think I've ever heard anyone speak as cold as you." He shook his head for a moment before locking eyes with each and every one of them, "Rodrik Stark. Some men call me the Wandering Wolf."

I blinked, "Oh, then this makes this easy then."

He raised a single eyebrow of the same colouring of his hair, "Makes what easier?"

"Ser Rodrik-."

He stopped me there with a wave of the hand, "None of that 'ser' nonesense. Do I look like a Manderly or a southron knight?"

"Eh no, I guess not." I cleared my throat before deciding to address him once more, "Lord Rodrik," The man grinned, "I was hoping to have your daughter's hand in marriage. The unmarried one that is."

The northern wolf raised another eyebrow. Behind him, his men let out gasps of shock. I'm sure some of the men behind us did as well, "You want to marry my daughter?"

"Yes. Branda, if I remember her name correctly."

"You remember true." He rubbed at his shaven chin, "Are you not betrothed though? To the Princess Rhaella?"

"Who is my sister. I'm not at all enthused to that idea." I sighed, "I wouldn't have made this journey other wise. So how about it, will you have me as your goodson?"

His answer came rather quicker than I thought it would.

All he did was merely shrug his shoulders and utter the words, "Yeah. Alright, why not?"

And like that, it seemed as if I had found myself a northern bride.

Well, that had been easier than I thought it would be.


	3. Chapter 3

Well, fuck me with a fucking dildo up the fucking arsehole.

From the books, I had already come to know that the gods of Planetos, probably some of them, not all of them, were real, but that didn't mean I was ready for what I was hit with when I walked into Winterfell's godswood.

Truth be told, the moment I had entered Winterfell, I had noticed a slight change in the air, didn't know what, but I could feel it. It was like some sort of warm blanket or something. It was very difficult to describe since I didn't know how to describe it.

To me, it felt I had just walked out of a cold room and into a mildly warm one. Or as if I had just walked out of the rain and quickly wrapped a blanket around me for warmth.

I knew that hot water was piped through the walls of Winterfell to keep the castle warm, but I doubted it had this particular effect that I was feeling. It was very strange and...discourteous to me. I don't know why, but all sorts of alarms in my head were going off as to how 'off' things felt. Like this wasn't supposed to be happening.

I was still outside and in the cold so there was no reasonable explanation as to why I should feel warm. None at all.

But I still felt the feeling, even as the cold bit at my skin with a tiny thousand blades of wind.

You know those alarms? Now they were fucking klaxons the deeper I walked into the godswood, following the well trodden path beneath my well booted feet.

The gods were real. Well, the old gods as far as I could tell.

I wondered if the alarms and klaxons had anything to do with the fact that from where I come from, magic wasn't actually a thing? Well, the magic that existed here was certainly far different to the magic that I had seen back home in shows and on streets.

To me and my mind and my senses, this feeling probably went against everything I knew the world was supposed to work. Magic essentially told the Laws of Physics to go fuck themselves.

And like every other guy, even when the laws were a pain the ass, I still did love my Laws of Physics because at the very least, they tried to make sense of the universe we inhabited.

And speaking of gods, primarily the old gods, I don't really think the old gods counted as gods. Went they something of a hive mind? I'm pretty sure the old gods were more along the lines of a hive mind in how they came to be about. Read it in one of the books.

Had to be a thing. Pretty sure of that.

I found myself somewhat feeling uncomfortable the deeper I walked into the holy place. If I didn't know anybody, it felt as if I was being watched and considering that apparently, the old gods resided in every tree, rock, whatever, and the fact that I knew they were very real and that for some sort of reason, I could feel their sheer presence, they were more than likely watching me.

I wondered what exactly the numerous pantheon of the old gods felt about me? Hell, I would be surprised if Brynden wasn't aware of me. If he was half as good as he was supposed to be, I'm pretty sure he would have felt my presence, either the day I supplanted Aerys' will for my own, or the moment I stepped foot in the north.

I wonder if I could ask him. After all, the weirwoods were something of a network weren't they? And he was practically one anyway.

Following the seemingly winding path and up some stone stairs, I found myself coming into a large clearing that wasn't filled with sentinels, weirwoods, iron trees. Instead, around the area was one giant lake, still as still could be and on the other side was a large white weirwood tree with red leaves and a face drawn into it's trunk.

A Heart Tree.

By now, I felt I should drop to my knees as the presence had become all but suffocating. It felt strange. I could breath but at the same time, I felt like I shouldn't breath, for all I knew, the very air was holy with old gods hanging around the oxygen particles. Who knew what havoc they could play in my lungs?

And like that, the presence lifted ever so much that it actually felt like I wouldn't suffer from a massive panic attack.

Huh, so the old gods seemed to have come to some sort of consensus about me. They had decided that I was alright or that they liked me or...something.

Alright.

As long as they didn't plan on me suddenly dropping to my knees and fervently praying to them, me and them were good.

I was born and raised Catholic and I was going to continue to keep being Catholic despite all the various bullshit and gods around me. Seven save me.

…I meant Lord save me.

That was the Aerys me speaking. Not the some-what not practicing agnostic Catholic me. What I'm trying to say is, my parents put the fear of God into me at an early age, but when I got older, and religion came to be less important to me, that fear still means I can't outright go being an Atheist.

So I just decided to go the middle ground for being Agnostic. For all I knew, God could very well be real, or he could not be. Who knew? I certainly didn't.

And anyway, I tended to take the view that religion was more of a guiding philosophy on how to live a good life without being a complete and utter jackass. Of course with modern morality instead of some of the older ones the Good Book espoused.

Right, back to the godswood. The old gods had decided I was cool and could hang around their digs.

I could deal with that. And anyway, the person I had come to look for happened to have been quietly praying in front of one.

I decided to leave her to it for a while and made my way round the lake that separated me and her. I didn't go to her directly not wanting to interrupt her prayer session so I decided to take a seat on a large boulder that seemed to have been made to be sat upon.

I wondered if this was the boulder that Lords of Winterfell sat upon when they cleaned Ice? Hm, something to ponder about.

Whilst I was waiting, I took out my little notebook from my inside pocket that I had sewn in. Yes, I sew. And knit. It's a very therapeutic practice.

Supposed not something the very manly culture of Westeros would look kindly upon. Should probably keep that to myself. Westeros had very set ideas of what a man can and can't do. Brill.

I began to flip through the pages. I had filled quite a number of them with my ideas that I was going to introduce. Crop rotation, canning, the printing press, paper, pens (both ball-point and fountain), double bookkeeping entry, modern economical theory (I knew some theories from elective Economic and Business Studies classes I took whilst I was in college), germ theory, improvements in hygiene and most importantly, public sanitation and a bunch of other things.

I was surprised that King's Landing didn't have any large outbreaks of disease considering people just threw their shit and crap out of their windows and onto city streets. It wasn't so bad in some of the more affluent areas, but in others, which was essentially most of the city? Christ, it was horrible and disgusting.

No wonder everybody thought the city stank.

I was rather confused as to why nobody thought of maintaining or improving the sewer system that Jaehaerys the First had built and implemented. It couldn't have been that hard to have some people maintenance the sewers and build some more when the city grew, could it?

I also doubted anybody washed.

With that thought, I immediately decided to put bath-houses to the list of ideas that I was going to introduce. Preferably set up like a swimming pool. With showers being taken before entering the bathes themselves.

I nodded to myself as I wrote down the specifics, even sketching of some rudimentary showers. It wasn't all that difficult to conjure up a gravity fed shower and plumbing certainly existed in Westeros, so I was pretty sure I wouldn't have to just keep to a gravity fed shower. A proper shower wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility.

Sketching out the designs and writing some notes and appendices, I found my thanking my older sister for making help with her own designs and sketches when it came to her fashion business. If not, I would have ended up being a very horrible drawer.

I stopped sketching with the graphite pencil that I had kept with me and thought of my sister. I thought of her and my other sister and my older brother. All of my older siblings that had looked after me countless nights when our parents had taken a break from being parents and gone off to some restaurant or second, third honeymoon or something like that.

I actually thought of my parents as well. I had been something of a surprise. My mum had been in her early forties by the time I had been born and she had given up on having any more children.

To say I was spoiled was an understatement. I always thought they spoiled me because they didn't expect me to be as good as my older siblings, smart, successful, good looking and all that. I started brooding, which was bad because I didn't brood.

Brood went against my nature.

It was then that I noticed the shadow that hanged over me. I glanced up and noticed Branda Stark in all her finery looking down at my notebook with a delicate eyebrow delicately raised up her brow, "I don't think I've ever seen writing like that." She said after a moment. She snatched the book out of my hands before I had time to react and started flipping through the pages, taking a moment to study the words and the drawings, "What language is this? Good drawings though." She added as an afterthought.

I blinked and made a go for my notebook, "Hey!"

She spun away from me, still perusing through my notebook that as well have been my diary. I felt all kinds of offended. Did she not know who I am?

"Stop your whining. I'm just reading." She frowned as she continued to flip through the pages at such a pace that I thought she would rip them, "Well trying to read anyway." She snapped the book shut and threw it in my direction.

I tried to catch it but I hadn't expected it be thrown at me, so I had ended up juggling it for a moment before finally taking it into my grasp. I stopped a moment and glared at her, "That was rude. You don't just take people's things like that."

The expression on her face told me that she didn't give the slightest fuck in the world, "I was curious. And anyway, I can't read it. What tongue is that? Valyrian? I confess, I never cared for that particular tongue."

"No. Not Valyrian. English." Why would I write my private thoughts and ideas in a language that some people already knew how to speak or could learn how to speak? Best use a language that nobody had ever heard of before and didn't have the slightest clue as to how to go along into translating into their own.

English was about a different language to the Common Tongue and Andal writing system as it was to Arabic or Japanese or Chinese. It was just too weird and strange to make out unless you knew what you were looking for.

...I realised I was going to have to at least tear out the pages that held the sketches and put them somewhere more secure. Those sketches were my babies. Didn't want the plans to be stolen and used by someone else.

Branda stared blankly at me, "Never heard of it. Some eastern Essosi tongue? Perhaps my father has heard of it."

I could go with that route when it came to the language, but Branda had pointed out a flaw in that plan. Someone who had travelled extensively in Essos would note that they had never heard of it, "No."

"No?" She blinked as she repeated my answer, "So where from?"

"From up here." I said as I tapped my head.

She blinked, "...You created a language?" I grinned for my answer and she shook her head, "I've heard a lot about you Targaryens, but really, who invents their own language? Those must be some private thoughts that you most certainly want to keep quiet."

Something about what she said caught me off, "How do you know I'm a Targaryen?" I asked, confused.

"Do you know anyone else around here with silver hair?"

"The Velaryons."

She laughed at that, "I suppose that's true." She stopped for a moment before taking the sides of her skirts and curtsying, "Branda Stark at your service, my prince. Apologies for my earlier behaviour."

I blinked at the sudden change in tone and attitude. What the hell had happened to the rather lively young woman that had taken my notebook out of my hands and had spun away from my reach? "I think we are well past introductions, my lady. Prince Aerys Targaryen at your service." I stopped for a moment, "But I shall have your refer to me as Rhys."

She stood up straight and raised an eyebrow, "Is that what they call you in the capital? Rhys," She tasted the word out in her mouth and smiled some, "I think I rather like it, Rhys."

I blinked as I took in her smile. When she smiled she was actually pretty. Not that she wasn't already pretty. She was actually quite gorgeous and I didn't see the hint of make-up on her face. I supposed by most southron accounts, she would have a wild beauty about her. Wild being that she was a natural beauty, then she certainly was.

In other words, I would have been more than happy to screw her silly, barring that, until she couldn't walk. And if everything worked out in my favour, that was going to be a thing I would be doing regularly, with her permission of course.

I found myself smiling. Put some make-up on her, and she would definitely turn heads.

"So might I enquire as to why a prince of the blood has come so far north?" She asked as she looked at me inquisitively, "I will admit, when the raven from the capital had come, I had never seen so much excitement in the castle. And I've lived here for my whole life."

I rubbed at my chin, "People are excited about me? Awesome."

"Not the good kind of excited, my prince." She chided me with a shake of the head, "My lady mother and aunts weren't at all happy. Winterfell is hardly in the state to hold a grand feast fit for a royal."

"I didn't come here for a feast."

"Then why are you here?"

I made my way up to her, took a hand of hers into mine and dropped onto a knee. She raised an eyebrow in confusion at my actions and then I opened my mouth, "Branda Stark, would you be willing to make me the happiest man on the earth and making me your lawfully wedded husband?"

She gave me a look, "I don't even know you."

"And would you have known your future husband?" From my understanding, marriages were arranged and at best, most parties only met once or twice before their wedding. Sure, I was missing out on the meeting her once or twice part of the equation and going straight for the answer, but I didn't have the luxury of time.

"Well, no. I suppose not." She answered me with a resigned sigh, one of her hands still in the grasp of my own. She hadn't pulled it away. I took that as a good sign, "Unless it was a northern lordling, then perhaps I would have an inkling of knowing the man."

"Exactly. I just expedited the process, that is all."

"Why me? I'm sure there are a lot more pretty southron flowers that would be vie to be wedded to a prince as handsome as you?"

I smiled some, "Oh? You think me handsome? I'm fluttered." Let's get one thing right. At nineteen years of age, I've only had two girlfriends that I could consider having been a long-term relationship. Long term as it lasted for more than a month at worst and at best, reached the two month threshold.

In other words, I have no idea how to talk to women. Seriously, most of my mates were boys and the few females friends that I had were girls that had firmly placed me in that dreaded place of all places, the Friendzone.

To put this into persepective, back home, on earth, do you know how long my dry spell had been? Two years.

I kid you not.

This whole thing? This was letting Aerys' instincts take control, mind you though, I had to censor some of the bullshit I was spouting and doing. By now, Aerys would have probably taken the lady and we would be missing a head, courtesy of one irate father at us having dishonoured his daughter.

Prince or not, this shit was taken seriously.

I think she flushed some or perhaps that was the wind. She was pale, but considering that sunlight didn't seem to be much of a thing in the north, I figured that most northerners were pale.

So in other words, a sudden rush of colour to her cheeks was noticeable. Her freckles made it even more the cuter. Or like the other excuse, it was merely the cold of the wind that had turned her face red.

A breeze had cut through the godswood at that opportune time.

"I would be a fool to think other wise." She looked away, "I shall admit, you are the prettiest man I have ever seen. So what they say about you dragonlords is true then, you are inhumanely beautiful."

"Still human though, nothing divine or the likes." The whole thing about us being above the laws of gods and men? I was positive that was one of the things that had resulted in the Targaryens having a massive entitlement and superiority complex.

Those two factors alone probably didn't help if said Targaryen ended up being less than stellar in the mind department.

She eventually removed her small hand from the grasp of mine and linked her hands behind her back. She walked around me and I tried to follow her with my eyes, "Yet you seem to think of the mind that one wife will not be enough for you. You are betrothed, are you not?"

I slowly nodded my head, "To my sister. Like my Grandfather, I share of the same mind that the Targaryen practicing of marrying sister to brother has done nothing but damage us. We would have achieved far more if we had wed with the other Houses of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Is it not the place of the child to follow the commands of their father?"

I grinned at her, "I'm something of a rebel." That and the fact that my own parents and uncles had rebelled against the wishes of their own father. Why should I be held to an ideal that they were not willing to hold themselves to?

"If I am to take your hand all of a sudden, I would hope that rebelliousness doesn't result in you seeking the beds of other women."

"I would not dream of it. Your father terrifies me."

She giggled, "Many fear the Wandering Wolf. Some say he's the best swordsman or warrior, in the north." She stopped in front of me, "You are right to fear him. My lord father cares much for the well-being of his lovely daughters. He would not have them dishonoured." She leaned in close, and I could feel the warmth of her breath upon my skin and notice that her eyes were not the grey that I thought they were. They seemed a more cool, pale blue than anything else. Like that of ice, "He. Would. Break. You. In. Half."

Surprisingly, I had come to that very same conclusion on my first meeting with him, "Yes. Yes he most would certainly." The Kingsguard that Ser Duncan commanded was far better than the one from the time of the books, but I doubted none of them had the combat experience Rodrik Stark had. The man had served with the Second Sons in Essos after all.

Got himself into all sorts of fights against someone I suspect, with all the wars that happened across the sea.

That and the fact I doubt no one wanted to stand in the way of an enraged father.

"So how about it, marry me?"

"You told my father of this?" She asked and I nodded, "His reply?"

"'Yeah. Alright, why not?'"

Branda sighed as she rubbed at her temple before looking back down at me, "My father has already given his permission. Congratulations, Rhys, you have yourself a Stark wife." She crossed her arms underneath her breasts, "But don't expect me to be some sort of gentle southron flower without a will of her own. Wolves are not so easily controlled."

I couldn't stop myself from the comment that came next, "Torrhen knelt easily enough."

XxX

Rodrik looked at me with an amused glint to his eyes before his eyes drifted down to the young woman walking beside me, "I see you were able to find my daughter." Then his eyes drifted over to the gentle caress my wife-to-be had given to my cheek, "And it seems as if you are getting alone famously. Be careful with her though, this little she-wolf has a bite to her."

"Father!" Branda admonished.

I rubbed at my cheek, wincing at the jolt of pain, "Truth be told, it's more a sting and less a bite. You sure she's a wolf? Perhaps a bee would have been more appropriate." I felt her glare on me and let it slide of me as best as I could.

I figured I was going to pay for that later.

Rodrik laughed some before turning around and leading us into the solar of the Lord of Winterfell, "Nephew, our royal guest and his wife have finally arrived."

From beyond the form of the Wandering Wolf, someone grumbled, "Uncle, I would prefer it if you called me by my name instead of nephew. It's bad enough that I am the older of the two of us."

Rodrik laughed and allowing me the first look at Lord Edwyle Stark, Warden of the North. He was a thin but hard looking man with the Stark features of a long face and a solemn, guarded looking face. He was dressed rather lightly, good choice considering his solar was warm compared to the outsides.

I noticed a youth slightly older than me standing at the side behind Lord Edwyle. I tried to put a name to a face but I had yet to meet all of the Starks apart from Branda, Rodrik and now, Lord Edwyle.

To my surprise, Lord Edwyle was older than his uncle, if you can believe that. Rodrik was only in his early thirties and Lord Edwyle was already nearly touching fifty. His hair more than showed for it.

A near twenty years age difference, that had been a surprise.

I inclined my head in greeting, "Lord Stark, a pleasure."

The Stark lord raised from his seat and bowed as well, so did the young man standing beside him, "The pleasure is all mine, my prince. I do believe the last time that Winterfell hosted royalty was during the time of your venerable ancestor Jaehaerys, the First of His Name."

I nodded, "A shame really. Winterfell is such a lovely castle and one of the oldest in all of the Seven Kingdoms. A castle worthy of it's reputation."

Rodrik snorted from the side, "Look at all that flowery language coming out of your mouth. Perhaps I was wrong to give you my daughter's hand?"

"You were not wrong, Lord Rodrik." I said, turning my head to face the older man, "It never hurts to be courteous."

"Listen to the young prince, uncle. You might learn a few things." Lord Edwyle said with a chuckle. He motioned us towards spare seats and we kindly took them. When he took his own seat, Lord Edwyle's expression turned from jovial to serious in a matter of moments, "I have to say my prince, your presence here has caused more excitement in the north than I have seen in my long years."

"Please, call me Rhys." I told the man.

Branda nodded from beside me, "He insists on that."

Edwyle's eyes narrowed somewhat in confusion but he slowly nodded before he continued speaking, "We received a raven from King's Landing telling us of your coming, but not to the reason as to why you are coming. So I think you can understand if I told you that I'm more than a little skeptical of my uncle's words in his saying that you have come this far to simply ask for my dear cousin's hand."

"I precisely came here for that." I told him plainly.

Lord Edwyle was quiet for a moment before speaking, "You are already betrothed."

"To my sister and not of my will." I shook my head, "I would have accepted any lady my father thought necessary for me to wed. Or my Grandfather even. He has great plans, but unfortunately, it seemed his own wilfulness was inherited by his own children."

"And grandchildren by the looks of it." Lord Edwyle noted with a single bob of the head.

I smiled as I agreed with him, "Yes, that is quite true, I suppose." I continued with my original point, "I would have wed any lady of the realm or even outside the realm. Anyone, except for my sister. She is my sister. That is all how I see her and nothing else. I am not of the same traditional mind as my Father and Mother. I'm more progressive like my Grandfather and sharing my bed with my sister is something I would do anything to avoid."

Should I go for the abdication route? Nah, just let it lie for now.

Still though, I wasn't done and I leaned forward slightly, "And I do believe this completes the pact."

"The pact?" Lord Edwyle asked, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

"The Pact of Ice and Fire, drawn up during the Dance of Dragons by Queen Rhaenyra and Lord Cregan Stark. A Targaryen shall wed a Stark of Winterfell."

"A Targaryen princess shall wed a Stark of Winterfell you mean." The youth that had continued standing beside Lord Edwyle said, speaking up for the first time.

My eyes drifted towards him, "I'm sorry, I have not yet asked for you name..." I trailed off, leaving the implication easy enough to hear.

"Rickard Stark." The youth answered with an easy nod of the head, "Heir to Winterfell and good-brother of Branda who sits beside you."

Branda waved at him cheekily enough, "Hi Ricky. How is my dear sister? Got her with child yet? I would be surprised if you hadn't considering the time you two wake-up."

A fury of red came flushing onto the face of the young heir. Beside me, Rodrik guffawed at the reaction of the young Stark. Lord Edwyle sighed as he shook his head, "The southrons think badly enough of us already, must you embarrass us so in the presence of the prince?" He chided Branda with a look.

She elbowed my side, "He doesn't mind, does he? After all, he's the one who wants to take a northern savage to wife."

I looked at her, "I wouldn't call you or any of yours savages, my lady. If I am to rule the Seven Kingdoms, it wouldn't serve for me to look down on the part of my kingdom that's as big as the rest of it now, can I?"

Lord Edwyle spoke with a wry smile on his face, "No. I suppose not." He leaned in his chair, "Truth be told, I would rather not gain the ire of your father by allowing this marriage. Rodrik might be Branda's lord father, but I am still the Head of House Stark, but as you pointed out, you are honouring a pact...that and you are the future ruler of Seven Kingdoms."

"I never took you for the ambitious sort, Ed." Rodrik let out in slight surprise as he leaned back into the leather of his chair.

"Ambition is part and parcel of a lord, uncle. You know that. My concerns are of the north and it wouldn't hurt to have friends in the south. And what better friends than the royal family?" He shook his head, "In truth, I had been to arrange a wedding for Branda with your blessing with a southern House. Now, it seems there is no need for me to look for friends south. A friend has decided to make his own way north." He finished with a smile in my direction.

I returned the smile with one of my own. Ahh, politics. Lovely thing it was, "So I suppose we shall have the wedding soon enough then?" I asked, "I would like to get married as soon as possible. Give less chance for my Father to do something I would dislike immensely. Like force me to wed my sister before the agreed time."

"We have a godswood and we don't need a septon to carry out our services. Why not just go there and do it now? We already planned a feast tonight for the prince's arrival, might as well turn it into an impromptu wedding feast." Rodrik suggested.

I snapped my fingers and pointed at him, "That is a great plan." My smile grew wider, "And I happen to have the heirs to two of the kingdoms and a knight of the Kingsguard to serve as additional witnesses if my Father starts asking questions." I stood up, nearly throwing my chair to the floor and grabbed at Branda's hand and held it. I pointed in the direction of the godswoods, "Let's have at it!" I finished as I pretty much led us out of the solar.

Branda protested against me grabbing her so suddenly, but I wasn't particularly listening. Today had been a good day.


	4. Chapter 4

"How angry is he?"

"Jaehaerys? I don't think I have ever seen Jaehaerys grow angry." My uncle, the one that was still alive, Prince Duncan, named after that big-ass Kingsguard by the name of Duncan the Tall rubbed at his chin, "I wouldn't say he is angry...just disappointed I suppose. He's always been a quiet one, able to keep what he feels deep inside. I think your grandsires are the only ones able to tell exactly what he's thinking."

I raised an eyebrow, "Disappointed?" I repeated before snorting. I held out my hand and watched as snow fell into the palm of it and melt against the warmth of my body. This was my first time seeing the famous summer snows of the north. Quite a pretty thing to see in truth, "I suppose he can now understand how grandfather felt."

Prince Duncan was the black sheep of the family. Not literally but figuratively. He had been the only one to inherit grandmother's black hair, but he had inherited the purple eyes of the Targaryens. A similar coloured eyebrow rose up his brow as he looked down to me, "Did you do all this to just spite him? I know you and Rhaella are not fond of each other...but to go this far?" He shook his head, at a loss of words apparently.

My face tightened, "I don't want to marry Rhaella."

"You wanted to marry this Stark girl? I don't even think you knew of her."

I hummed, "What can I say? I dreamed about her."

"Truly?"

"No uncle. If father is going to force me to marry due to the ramblings of some old goat, then I might as well decide who is to be my lady wife on nothing more than a whim."

Prince Duncan laughed some then, "Careful now, nephew. That old goat happens to be not so old and a good friend of my own lady wife."

I held back an instinct that came out of nowhere for me to deny the fact that Jenny of Oldstones was anything but a lady. That she was nothing more than one lucky daughter of a gun that had somehow found herself beguiling a prince of the blood.

My face tightened at the thoughts that had raced through my mind at the mention of my aunt. From Aerys' perspective, he had nothing good to say about her. Apart from the fact that she was pretty, but in a common born way, he genuinely looked down upon her. But he was scared enough of Duncan that he never said anything bad about her.

Well, not in the presence of the former heir to the throne anyway.

"I'm sure that old goat was born to make my life a misery, that is all."

Prince Duncan and a company of thirty men had soon arrived in Winterfell just a few days after me and the others had arrived, but far too late to stop whatever 'idiocy' as my father had put it from happening. I was already wed to Branda and by the laws of the realm, even though I had got myself wed in front of a Heart Tree, that was still as legit as marrying in a sept by a septon.

Still didn't mean that I probably should wed again in a Sept just to keep people of my back.

Me and my good old uncle stood atop one of the walls of Winterfell, facing the wolfswood. The summer snows were not so heavy as to blanket the earth that they fell upon, but it still made for a pretty sight.

I ran a hand through my hair, "So how long did it take?"

"Hm?"

"How long did it take for Rhaella to keep her mouth shut before ratting me out?"

Prince Duncan looked at me strangely, "...Ratting you out? Forgive me nephew, but I don't quite understand what you are trying to say."

I sighed, "How long did she wait before telling on me to father?"

"Oh that?" Prince Duncan sounded almost amused, "When we were having our family breaking of fast, of course. Your father was rather curious as to why you were absent. Rhaella couldn't bare my dear brother's look."

"Traitor." I grumbled underneath my breath, childishly crossing my arms like it was nothing.

Prince Duncan laughed, "Oh don't be like that. Rhaella means well. How can she deny her father such knowledge?"

I didn't particularly care that Rhaella was a daddy's girl. She had still betrayed me in good confidence and here I had been planning for her to get together with Ser Bonnifer to at the very least make her happy. The day that Ser Bonnifer had won that tourney and crowned her the queen of love and beauty, I doubt that Aerys-I-we had never seen such a happy and delighted expression on her face.

An expression that had set off all kinds of jolly little warm feelings rushing through my belly.

"Was that the Wandering Wolf himself, I saw you with?" The prince asked as a howl from a wolf could be heard coming from the direction of the seemingly unending woods of the wolfswood.

Another wolf returned the howl before more and more wolves howled into the early morning sky. I nodded my head, "The one and only." I winced as went to touch my sides, "He gave me a battering."

Apparently, my goodfather wanted to see how good a swordsman I was. I don't think I disappointed, but at the same time, I don't think I impressed. I'm more surprised at the fact that I was actually able to use a sword without making a fool out of myself.

I guess I was rather lucky in the fact that I had relied entirely on Aerys' body memory when it came to sword fighting. I needed to improve on that so that I relied less on memory and more on my own skill. It was going to be a complete and utter bitch, that I knew.

In other news, a man as lean and lanky as Rodrik Stark should not be able to hit as hard as he did. It was just unfair and ridiculous on so many levels.

I felt eyes peer at me and I turned my head to see my uncle's own purple eyes look down at me. Yes, look down at me. As tall as Aerys was, Prince Duncan was even taller, "I hope you didn't embarrass me. It wouldn't do much good for people to think I didn't teach you much when it came to the art of combat."

I shied away from his gaze, "That was Rodrik Stark. If you know who he is, what honestly makes you think that I stood a chance? I'm lucky he didn't cave my head in."

"And lose himself a goodson? A royal one at that? I think not." Prince Duncan laughed for a brief moment before quieting down, "You are to have a cousin."

I blinked, "A cousin?" My eyes lit up as I went through the gamut of family members that were married and would probably have children, "So Steffon is to have a younger sibling? Huh." The butterflies were flapping...or not.

I couldn't actually remember whether Steffon Baratheon had a younger sibling from cannon. Perhaps he did have a younger sibling that never survived till adulthood or was miscarried or something. The Baratheon's noticeably never had more than two children, well, until Robert and company came along.

"Your aunt Rhaelle isn't the only one that is married, you realise that, do you not?"

"Hm?" I turned towards my uncle before I blinked as more dots connected. I had so completely forgot about Duncan and Jenny. Once again, I had relegated Jenny to a non-entity without the slightest thought, "...Jenny?"

He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips, "We have kept it quiet for now, but hopefully, we will tell the news at a later date. Perhaps during the outing to Summerhall."

"Summerhall...?" Wait, Summerhall was happening? Well, not happening, but we were going to Summerhall? And from the way Duncan had said it, this was apparently a regular thing.

I scrambled through Aerys' memories for some kind of answer before I realised that once every year or sometimes twice, the king would hold court in the Targaryen palace of Summerhall. Maybe hold a couple of balls and masquerades and feasts and a bunch of other things.

My first chance to actively change shit was soon going to be on the horizon. I needed to get myself alone with Egg and tell him that trying to bring the dragons back was stupid and dangerous and had killed more of the family than nearly anything else. That, and the fact that how exactly would we be able to control the dragons if we knew jack shit about them?

That knowledge had been lost for decades now.

Baelor you fucking prick. How you got anywhere near a throne was fucking beyond me.

I shook my head, "Summerhall eh? I suppose Branda would be impressed by the castle. It's a truly beautiful castle."

Prince Duncan nodded, "Highgarden maybe the most beautiful castle in the Seven Kingdoms, but I believe Summerhall give it a close running for it's coin."

"Never been to Highgarden, so I can't really say."

Summerhall.

I wondered exactly how to approach that particular subject with King Egg. To be honest, I'm sure Egg meant well, he probably did mean well, considering everything he saw about how the smallfolk suffered during his travelling with Ser Duncan.

Truthfully, I actually didn't know what were even Egg's reforms that he had been trying to put through. Mind you though, this wasn't of any fault of my own. This was all old Aerys' fault. The bastard couldn't really have cared any less about the troubles and politicking about the kingdom that he was in line to rule.

No wonder people thought Tywin ruled the kingdom during his handship.

I wouldn't blame them for that line of thinking. Aerys had only used his status as a second in line heir to get privileges and favours from lords. Those privileges and favours coming through in the form of their daughters, sisters, grandchildren and somewhat distressingly, wives.

Worryingly...I found myself not knowing how to feel about all this. On one hand, it was utterly despicable to gain sexual favours in the way he did, on the other hand, the lucky son of a bitch. I actually fealty somewhat jealous despite the sheer questionable consent some (majority?) of the women had in this particular thing that Aerys had going on.

I would be surprised if people didn't think he was the second coming of Aegon the Unworthy. Unfortunately, those people would be rather wrong. Aerys' wasn't the second coming of Aegon IV. Nah, the horny little shit would be even worse that Aegon and Maegor combined.

"Have you thought of any names?" I asked my uncle as we made our way back into the depths of Winterfell. There was to be a feast tonight in celebration of Prince Duncan's arrival.

Well, there had been a feast planned for tonight, but my humble uncle decided for a small dinner in Lord Stark's solar rather than a feast. He was more conscious of the fact that the northern houses weren't the richest houses around in the Seven Kingdoms. That, and a royal feast tended to include a lot of food eaten during that particular feast.

Food that might be better served elsewhere. For people who needed it.

My uncle laughed, "I don't even know whether the child shall be a girl or a boy. Why would I be thinking of names as of right now? Perhaps later when Jenny starts growing with child." I made a sound that sounded somewhat like a hum. I think it was a hum, "How about you?" Prince Duncan asked out of the blue, "Have you thought of any names for the child you shall soon borne with the Lady Branda?"

Actually no. It was still too early for that. That and the fact that we only had sex the once and that was during out bedding. Yes, Branda was very shaggable, but I was going to be with the woman for the rest of my life.

At the very least, I wanted to make a go of knowing her better than I already did. Wouldn't want us to grow weary and then despise each other because we realised we weren't all that compatible...which was now a rather silly thought because you know, I was now married to her and surprisingly, unlike the Faith of the Seven, worship of the old gods didn't actually have anything remotely resembling divorce.

Right, just to make things easier to understand, the Faith of the Seven had divorce, but under very certain circumstances and that only the High Septon could grant the divorce through long deliberation, I.e. whatever amount that was sent into his pockets or whatever bribe that was needed to make him grant such a thing.

Along them lines, the divorce was more of an annulment that wasn't exactly an annulment that was more like a divorce...if that made any sort of sense. Problem is, the divorce, separation, annulment, whatever screwed over the wife and whatever children born from the union.

Let's start with the children shall we? Because at the end of the day, it is always the children that suffer. Not that I'm again divorce mind you. Divorce is always good if it means you won't have to deal with a spouse that won't try to think of interest ways to get rid of you.

See, it sort of went like this. If a marriage dissolved, the children from that union immediately lose their name, their last name and essentially, they become bastards. Why? Because their father would more often than not marry someone else and have children from that union.

Essentially, the entire thing was created so that messy succession crisis would be avoided. I think it worked...probably because of the large social stigma that came with the divorce. It's even worse for the woman due to the honour culture of Westeros, she would be shamed like no tomorrow and her name dragged through the mud.

That, and strangely enough, the Defiled Forever thing would be attributed to them, despite not making any sort of sense since widows can remarry but divorced women? No, apparently, that wasn't socially acceptable as Westerosi would see that something was wrong with them for them to get a divorce in the first place.

It was sort of confusing and I guess that was why women just suffered all the abuse that they did quietly and with dignity, like a proper lady.

Back to the main point though, despite it being early days, I had decided that I liked Branda. She was certainly a breath of fresh air compared to some of the more submissive women that I recalled from Aerys' memories.

Truth be told, she just happened to be a more fiercer Queen Betha Blackwood.

...I don't really know what that meant when it came to my subconscious. I really hope I didn't have an inter-generational Oedipus Complex or something like that.

"The same answer as you uncle. I doubt our one little tumble would be enough to get her with child."

A lone dark eyebrow was pushed up his brow in curiosity, "One?"

"Just the once, uncle."

I left him at that and stew and ponder as to what I meant.

This wasn't my first meal in Winterfell. Having already stayed for the better part of a week, I was already accustomed to the flavours and desirable traits of northern cooking. To be compared with southern foods, it was a bit...lacking to say the least, but that was out of more than practicality than anything else.

The climate of the north didn't particularly lend to it suitable environment for seasonings to be grown. And anyway, the average attitude to food in the north was that if it could cooked and eaten, then that was good enough. Seasoning? Bah, the only seasoning one needs is a pinch of salt or vinegar or wine or whatever is at hand.

The typical northern diet consisted of vegetables, roots most of the time and meat. Nothing exotic as seen from the south. Just enough food to keep someone healthy and not at all sick. It sort of reminded me of British food. Nothing like the French or Spanish or Italian crap. This was proper food for proper people.

Of course, my taste buds had been raised among exotic foods and such, it took me a while to get used to the northern foods that was being placed on my plate and in front of me. If Prince Duncan felt the same when it came to the food in front of us, then he was making a good show of not showing it.

He was the picture of princely charm and I wondered how the Seven Kingdoms would have been like if he had gone onto inherit the Iron Throne. Hopefully, it would have ended being not the disaster that was Aerys' rule...hopefully.

Mind you though, being someone that would eat just about anything, a couple of years at Uni and being bad at money management would make someone willing to eat just about anything that they could find in the fridge that smelled reasonable enough to be eaten, had made me someone willing to taste out new things.

Once, on holiday in Spain, I had thirty clams. They were horrible. I soldiered through it all though. That is how adventurous I am when it comes to the food stuff.

But once again, the northern cuisine was pretty plain and I was pretty sure the strange thing in the middle of the table was haggis. Adventurous? Yes. But adventurous enough for that bullshit? No chance in hell bruh.

Haggis was something I tried once and decided was never for me.

Having already tried everything on the table, I amused myself by checking out the entirety of the Stark clan that had been summoned for this particular little celebration.

Compared to the Starks from the original timeline, there were about a dozen of them seated around the main table. So many in truth I wondered why the hell not there wasn't several cadet families of the Starks. I mean seriously, I could literally count three male Starks that could easily become the Starks of something.

Here's a thing about the north. It was big.

Everyone knew that.

Problem is, it had the second lowest population right behind Dorne. Which meant that the majority of the north was unclaimed. Hell, it was very rare for a territory dispute to rise up between the Houses of the north simply because sometimes, there would be a large amount of land that separated one house from another.

And since it was unclaimed, that land was under the default ownership of House Stark.

Why the hell someone didn't just build a holdfast and give it to a Stark on those unclaimed lands would be beyond me if I didn't actually answer my own question about the low population thing. Yes, Westeros was a feudalistic society, but unlike Earth feudalism, the smallfolk could go wherever they wish, in theory anyway. In practice? Not so much.

Therefore, it was standard among the northern Houses to be rather possessive about their smallfolk. Some new holdfast comes out of nowhere and they have to send their precious smallfolk of another lord? That sort of shit wouldn't stand.

Sort of makes sense as to why there were very little cadet branches of northern Houses around these parts of the woods.

"So Prince Duncan, does your presence here mean that Prince Aerys will be returning to the capital soon enough?" Artos Stark, uncle to my lovely wife Branda who was seated beside me, asked.

My uncle quietly chewed on the food in his mouth and swallowed before speaking, "Unfortunately so, my lord. Sad as it is to say, me and my nephew and his companions shall have to forestall the hospitality of your Houses magnificent castle for the nonce. My royal nephew has duties to attend to back in the capital."

I nearly couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes. Duties? What duties? I didn't have any duties apart from being an upper-class twit. A rather charming and handsome upper-class twit. Uncle Duncan was essentially telling everyone as diplomatically as possible that my father wanted to have words with me as soon as possible without embarrassing me or my lord father.

That, and to show their vassal House that the royal family was unified in a single goal.

Lord Artos merely nodded his head simply at the reply he received, "I do hope you won't work him too hard. A young man such as the prince does deserve a break every now and then."

There was some political double speaking going on here. Easy enough for me to deduce as that whatever punishment that shall be levied upon my persons better not infringement on my marriage to his niece or stop me from doing my duty as a husband.

Yes, the Starks were all about honour, but these Starks seemed to be more political than future descendants. Or perhaps that had only been Ned.

Uncle Duncan smiled amicably. His smile seemed real enough, "Wouldn't dream of it, my lord."

The following conversations went right over my head. My goodfather said something about bringing a company of guardsmen for his daughter, him leading it. Apparently, he had been wanting to take near the damn contingent of guardsmen from Winterfell but had been swayed with a company of a hundred men.

A hundred men was still pretty excessive though for a household guard in the capital. Then again, considering the distance of the north from the capital and far away from any form of reinforcement, a hundred was a healthy number. Most noble guests in the Red Keep had a household guard that for propriety sake, didn't number more than thirty.

As Branda was now a royal princess, an exception could be made.

Oh yeah, my wife's cousins, the twins Brandon and Benjen would be coming along as well. The twins were near of an age with young Rickard but only a couple of years older. As twins they looked similar obviously and shared some Stark features, but they took after their mother more than they did than their father.

They still had the guarded looking face, but less solemn looking and their eyes were a grey that looked like blue at a distance. The opposite of my own wife which was a blue that looked grey from a distance.

I hadn't interacted with the twins much during my days in Winterfell, but at the few times that I did, they seemed like a solid couple of guys. Brandon the older one was more reserved than his younger brother and kept his chestnut coloured hair cut short, whilst Benjen was the more outgoing one, keeping his hair long that it went past his ears and nearly reached his chin in it's length.

Benjen gained my attention and leaned forward on the long table, "Is it true what they say about the capital?"

I blinked as I tried to recall the conversations that had been happening around me that I hadn't actually been paying attention to. I got nothing, "True about what exactly? A lot of people say a lot of things about King's Landing."

"That you can smell the corruption from miles away."

I had to stop myself from smiling as Lord Artos nearly chocked on his drink, "Benjen!"

Uncle Duncan had something of a wry amused smile on his lips as he quietly ate his own food. I released a sigh I didn't even know that I was holding, "Well, it's less the corruption and more the lack of a decent sewage system...something I ought to see can be done about."

Benjen gave one simple nod as he leaned back into his seat, "Good. I do have sensitive nostrils. I rather they not be assaulted by the stench of the place."

"Oh, they will be assaulted alright." I laughed, "For a while that is."

I was being truthful. Improving a sewer system didn't just happen over night. I had walked past enough roadworks and other such things to know that it took time. And that was with modern equipment. I didn't even know or could make a guess as to how long and how much improving the sewers of King's Landing would take.

I realised then and there that I probably had a lot of work ahead of me. Now I'll admit, I sometimes questioned myself as to why I was even bothering going to do the things that I wanted to do, then my answer would immediately be the ice demons coming from the far north with their army of the undead.

Then my brain would tell me that I can just buy a piece of land somewhere in the Summer Isles and retire there when everything went to hell and possibly never come back. Then again, I would tell myself that the whole 'Long Night' thing was actually a thing that affected the world. Azor Ahai was a completely Essosi thing and yet apparently, the idiot with the flaming sword was involved (possibly, could be the last hero or Hyrkoon or whoever) was involved in the whole banishing the others that was a thing back in the not so good but actually bad old days.

So who was to say that the Summer Isles would be unaffected by the Long Night? Not me since I wasn't fucking George RR Martin and didn't know what the hell was going to happen to the rest of the world.

Since I was going to be actually living here, I figured I might as well go about as making life for me be as reasonably comfortable as possible. Therefore, I would very much prefer it if what was going to be my seat of power didn't smell to the high heavens.

When I had come out of my mental reverie, I had found myself back in my and Branda's chambers. I would admit, I was quite the spacer, but even this was ridiculous.

"I do hope that you actually pay attention in future dinners." Branda told me as she began undoing the laces on the front of her bodice.

I had happened to take a seat on a nearby sofa and enjoyed the free strip show that was being placed out in front of me, "I did pay attention."

She snorted at that as she went about putting on her night dress. A sheer thing in truth. A thing that did something to me which I wholeheartedly agreed with. I tried to bring my eyes up to meet her own. I think I did rather well, "I responded when someone spoke to me, did I not? I think that's pretty good."

"Is that a little trick you pick up at court? The ability to seem like you are not paying attention, but actually are?"

I thought about it. Strangely, that was rather accurate. Most of the conversations that Aerys had been subject to was nothing more than rumours and gossip, something he wholeheartedly engaged in, but some gossip and rumours bored him, so he had developed a rather useful talent of not paying attention, but only paying attention to some of the more important stuff so when questioned, he would act like he had actually been paying attention throughout the whole time.

After years of trying, I had never been able to do such a thing myself.

"Don't worry, I'm positive that you will learn the trick yourself when you come to court. It's a useful thing to know. Most of the people just go on and on and on without end."

Branda had made her way to our rather large bed that was quite a noticeable downgrade in the luxury compartment compared to the one that I had back in King's Landing, "I doubt I'll have the patience for such a thing." She looked at me strangely, "Are you going to sleep on the sofa once more?"

"I've become rather used to it." Like I said, I've only shared our marriage bed once with Branda.

Her face darkened as she frowned. She patted to the empty space beside her, "At first, I thought it was rather chivalrous of you, not to rush into this and at the very least try to know me and I, you. Now I find it rather insulting. Do you not find me desirable?"

I gave her a look, "You were there during our wedding night, right?" I think I more than showed than enough enthusiasm into our marriage back then.

"Forgive me for wondering where all that enthusiasm disappeared to." She patted the empty space once more, "Come along now. If you won't partake in your rights as a husband, I suppose at the very least, I like to think that my bed is far more comfortable to your current sleeping bed."

"Rights as a husband?" I repeated before shaking my head, "Truth be told, I would be hopeful that us joining in our...love...making would be because we both want to, instead of because one of us wants to." Mind you though, if she was up to it, I would be up to it.

Her lips quirked, "Love making?" She repeated, trying to stifle some giggles from escaping her lips, "If you want to say fuck, just say it. I think I have been repeating this for a while now, I'm not so delicate." She patted the space once more, "Now get here. At the very least, I would like to have something to cuddle to in my sleep."

I shook my head in amusement before doing what was asked for me, "By the way, I never took you for delicate after our first night together."

An eyebrow was raised in interest, "Oh, why is that?"

"You snore. Loudly." I stopped for a moment, "And drool as well. Not exactly lady like behaviour."

Safe to say, I ended up on the sofa that night.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: As always, TenDark is the maestro.**

I had barely noticed it at first, Winterfell really should have been my eye opener, but by the looks of things, when the Westerosi built something, they made sure it was bloody big. As the Red Keep glistened a bloody crimson in the afternoon light, I wondered to myself exactly how a people with seemingly no indoor plumbing were able to build something as ridiculously large as that complex looking castle.

In my youth, I had seen my fair share of castles dotting the British countryside, from the smallest forts to the largest and grandest of castles.

Therefore, with much honesty, I could safely say that the biggest had nothing on some of the castles that I have seen and if what I've heard about Harrenhal is to be true, then clearly the Westerosi architects and builders had something over their real-life medieval architects and builders.

I was wholly ignoring the fact that Planetos was a completely and utterly fictional environment and thus trying to compare it to Earth was an exercise in futility. See, the problem is, this fictional environment had now become my reality and there was really nothing that I could do about that other than accept it.

That, and the fact that for the sake of my own sanity, I supposed I needed to compare some of the shit that I saw to the shit back home both in my everyday life and the things that I learned in History class.

I wouldn't say that I was an expert on the Middle Ages that Westeros was based on, but I'm pretty sure half the shit that happens in Westeros wouldn't have flied in the Middle Ages back on Earth, but then again, that was me comparing the real world with a fictional world that pretty much cranked shit up to eleven, if not that, ten and a half at the very least.

In other words, I think I had already said this before, but I really shouldn't try and compare Westeros to Middle Ages Western Europe. It wouldn't do much for me...I think.

The Red Keep was the first noticeable thing anyone would see when they began to make their approach to King's Landing from sea. Standing atop Aegon's High Hill, it was the most noticeable building from a distance away and I suppose it would go for the same as well when approached from land.

The Red Keep was very...distinctive looking.

King's Landing was a sprawling city and according to many netizens and commentators of the books, a wholly implausible city for a world supposedly based on the Middle Ages in terms of size.

Beside me, Benjen Stark appraised the city in the distance, "That's King's Landing? Now that I can make a comparison, White Harbour seems to be nothing more than a fairly large town in comparison. How many souls can it hold within it's walls?"

"Five hundred thousand or thereabouts. It's mostly estimation though, I don't think a proper census has ever been taken for some years or decades." I suppose that was something I was going to have to get done as well. So many things to do and so little time to do it in as well.

Just like the old saying went, there was no rest for the wicked...even though I didn't think of myself as particularly wicked. Yes, I could be a dick sometimes, but not all that many times. I was awfully delightful the rest of the time.

Benjen allowed a whistle to escape his lips as the city loomed closer and closer as we neared it, "Half a million souls? White Harbour can only boast half a hundred thousand." He barked out a laugh at that observation, "Still though, Uncle Rodrik tells us that the Free Cities of the East are even larger than any city in Westeros, some even holding more than a million souls within their walls."

"I've heard of that." I said with a nod of the head. Again, the internet was rife with people that looked at these figures calling all sorts of bullshit, but then again, the Free Cities were socially and culturally advanced than Westeros as a whole.

What with them being in comparison to Renaissance Era Italy. More than likely, they had a firmer grasp of their shit over the narrow sea, that and controlled city planning and growth. And plumping. They probably had plumping as well.

I had come to learn rather quickly that I did not appreciate shitting in what was essentially a bucket and peeing in a pot.

Great, another thing to add to the list, en-suite bathrooms. How should I say this? It is beyond awkward hearing your wife pee into a pot. Especially if you have only come to know her for a little over a month.

Benjen continued telling me about the Free Cities, "And that's only the Nine Free Cities themselves. They have their own vassal cities themselves that could put any of Westeros own cities to shame."

Probably true, wouldn't know, "I have to say, you seem well eager to talk about the east. Are you sure you are a proper Westerosi?" From my understanding, the general attitude of Essos when it came to the Westerosi or perhaps nobles was nothing more among the lines of 'Look at those barbarians with their barbaric and dishonourable ways! None of them can hold a candle to proper civilised people like us Westerosi.'

The Stark let out a bark of laughter at the line of questioning. His laughter quietened down for a moment before he spoke, "I'm the second son of a second son. Before you came along, I would have more than likely spent the rest of my life in Winterfell, probably get a wife from one of our bannerman. Not much of a life if you ask me and perhaps it was because of hearing tales of my uncle's adventures in Essos, but a certain wanderlust was borne inside of me. I want to see the world, Prince Aerys. I shall serve you and my uncle in whatever capacity you require of me, but eventually, our paths shall diverge and I shall go on my own way."

"To the Free Cities then?"

"Perhaps even further."

As we neared King's Landing, the sailors prepared for port and started furling up the sail and tapering of the rhythm of the oars. I left Benjen alone in the forecastle as I made my way below deck, partly because I wanted to escape from the stench that was soon going to assault my nose before I had even arrived in the city proper.

The other reason was to check up on my wife, because like Tywin, she did not take well to the sea. Wanting to put on the image of the dutiful and caring husband, I wanted to make it seem like I, at the very least, cared about her wellbeing, which I actually did. Branda was good fun.

That, and because it was basic manners to with well the health of another person.

Making my below, I ran into Steffon being accompanied by my goodfather Rodrik. Steffon having been with me for quite a number of years merely gave a slight inclination of the head instead of a bow at my presence. I returned the nod.

Rodrik gave a more formal bow, bending his upper body slightly.

I looked at him strangely when he straightened, "What was that?"

The older man corked an eyebrow, "What was, what?"

"That." I said, pointing and waving a finger at him, "The bowing. You haven't bowed to me even once. Not even when we met."

"I bowed to your uncle."

I sighed, "You and I both know that's not the same thing." Duncan Targaryen was princely and regal. I was princely and regal, well, I thought I was. Hopefully, I am princely and regal, other wise I was going to have a hell of a time in the future trying to convince people to follow me.

From the books, the people around here had this thing that if you looked like something, then clearly you were worthy to be followed or derided. Thankfully, I happened to have been born beautiful and that was bloody fantastic since the trope beauty equals goodness was firmly in place.

Steffon stood at the side, a slightly amused smirk across his face. Rodrik had a lopsided grin on his face before he spoke, "Acting all familiar with you can be excused because I'm your goodfather, but I doubt acting like that to the rest of your family would be looked upon so...kindly. You southrons and your etiquettes and manners. Why you bother with that farce, I'll never know."

Steffon harrumphed, showing that despite his impressive height, he was still nothing, if not a child, "I will have you know Lord Rodrik, in the stormlands, we also don't bother with that nonsense. It's everybody else that does."

"Haven't met many stormlanders, Lord Steffon. I shall reserve judgement against them when I do." The older lord said before peering at me, "Going to see how Branda fairs?"

I nodded, "Aye, as my wife, her health is of my concern as is it yours as her father."

He waved me off, "I don't think I've ever heard of a man or a woman die of a little seasickness. She'll be fine. She's tougher than this. This is her first time on a ship, so I can't say I'm all that surprised. I was the same as well when I sailed east for the first time."

I'm sure there was a simple solution to motion sickness such as this, but for the love of me, I couldn't remember what exactly. Nonetheless, I persevered, "Still though, I would like to see how she fairs. Perhaps my presence might very well drive away her sickness of the sea." I finished with the best charming smile that I could muster.

It must not have been charming enough as my goodfather laughed straight up in my face, "My daughter is made of sterner stuff than that. She won't fall for such things as pretty smile and pretty faces." He shook his head some more in mirth as he looked at me, "And anyway, one does not heal from an ailment like that. It doesn't work like that."

I smiled in a placable manner, "One can try, can they not?" My eyes drifted over to Steffon, "Tywin?" I didn't need to put anymore detail into my question for Steffon to be able to understand what I was asking for.

My cousin merely shrugged his shoulders, "Just like before, doesn't do well with the sea." He frowned, "If you were planning to go see him, don't bother. He doesn't want to be seen in such a state. A 'weakness' he calls it. Him and his damnable pride."

I had to stop myself from smiling or something but I'm sure they noticed the slight twitching of my lips, "Tywin wouldn't be Tywin without that pride of his."

At that moment, Rodrik let out a scoff, "What pride exactly are you talking about? His father is a laughing stock. I hear his bannermen do as they will without fear of reprisal or action from him."

Me and Steffon shared an uneasy look between us. More of an action that had been ingrained in the both of us, well before I had come along and taken over Aerys. Steffon seemed to take it a step further by looking around, as if in search of something, "Don't let him hear you say that, or speak of the Lannisters or the westerlands in his presence." He near hissed, "It's a very...sensitive subject to our friend."

"Steffon cannot be understating the subject anymore than he is trying right now." I added in deadpan. I was quiet for a moment, "Also, don't make japes at his cost or laugh at him. Laugh with him, but not at him. Believe me, Tywin knows on how to hold onto a grudge and one way or another, a Lannister pays his debts."

The mirthful look my goodfather always seemed to have on his face disappeared for a moment as he looked me, grey eyes studying me intensely, "You fear him?"

Oh, what a question to ask. A king couldn't rightly fear one of his vassals. The king was supposed to be the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. If he feared someone, especially one of his bannermen, that would imply that bannermen was more powerful than him or held something over him.

I could be cautious as fuck, but never fearful, "No." I replied firmly with a shake of the head, "I've been his friend for long enough to know that some subjects or actions unnecessary ruin a previously enjoyable mood. That's why I said the things I said. As far as I'm concerned, a happy Tywin is the far better to alternative to an angry one. Less fuckery I have to deal with."

Rodrik blinked for a moment before slowly nodding his head. And like that, our conversation came to an end. We parted ways and continued on our way, those two going onto the top deck and me visiting my lovely wife.

I found Brandon standing guard outside his cousins door. I raised an eyebrow, "Never seen a Stark stand guard before."

The older twin of Benjen had noted my approach the moment I had entered the small corridor that led to Branda's quarters. He inclined his head and upper body in a polite bow when I stopped a few short ways ahead of him, "It was something to do. I find myself at a loss of activities to do upon a ship." He told me as he straightened himself up.

"And what do you exactly do, when not upon a ship?"

Brandon just looked at me with those grey eyes of his. Truth be told, they were rather unnerving, especially given the fact that I don't think I have ever heard of Brandon speaking with any other kind of tone other than softly. Really, he took the Stark stoicism seemingly to a whole new level of ballgame.

He eventually replied after a few short moments of would be deafening quiet if it wasn't for the rocking and crashing of waves and the muffled sounds of seagulls letting loose their cries in the sky, "Read. Practice my swordplay. Anything to pass the time."

I raised an eyebrow, "You read? Most of the lords I know find reading to be the task of maesters."

"An able mind is just as deadly as an able sword hand."

I laughed and nodded my head in agreement, "I like that. There should be more men like you in the world."

Brandon shrugged, "Truth be told, I was never inclined to read, my prince. I broke my hand once in the training yard. The Starks have one of the largest libraries in all of the Seven Kingdoms. I supposed I might as well see what it held."

"And you found yourself hooked?"

He raised an eyebrow at my euphemism and I thought I would have to explain it to him, but he seemed to work it out himself and he gave a single nod of the head, "Books contain much and much more. Although I do find some of the discrepancies in the history of the Seven Kingdoms to be somewhat annoying. Nothing can be done about that in truth, I suppose."

The door he stood guard over creeped open and from the opening peeked through the dishevelled and pale looking features of my wife, "Do you plan on speaking outside my door for all eternity? I thought you were hear to see me instead of spending your time with my beloved cousin."

Brandon stood aside, "Apologies Branda."

She looked at her cousin with a pointed look, "You know what your problem is, Bran?"

Oh, his nickname was Bran? Why was I not surprised in the slightest?

"No, but I suppose you are about to tell me. Again."

Branda nodded, "Yes, exactly what I'm going to do. I'm surprised it has not stuck inside that supposedly studious head of yours."

"I like to keep the irrelevant things out."

My wife sighed, "Gods help me with you Bran..." She turned her attention to me and brought attention to her current state, "This? This is your fault. If you hadn't come merrily whistling to the north, I wouldn't have had to get on this damnable boat and be suffering from th-." She stopped for a moment as her face turned green for a moment and a hand shot to her mouth.

Me and Bran took a moment to take a step back. Or two. Just in case.

Nothing happened and Branda returned her attention back to me, a defeated look upon her face, "So tell me, how long must I continue to suffer because of you?"

Because of me? Well, I supposed the blame did sort of lay with me, but truth be told, she would have still gone on a boat one day even if I hadn't come along. Lord Edwyle had been meaning to betroth her to a southern House, so one way or another, she would have been finding herself getting onto a motherfucking boat.

Again, that charming smile of mine that was actually Aerys' in truth came plastered onto my face, "Not long, my good lady. King's Landing is within sight and we shall be making port soon. Within the hour, I think."

She raised an eyebrow, "Really? I'm surprised I'm not smelling it."

I smiled at her, "That would be the sea winds at work. On the docks, the smell of sea and salt is much stronger than the stench of half a million people." Unfortunately, when you went far away enough from the docks, that's when King's Landing hit you with it's full power on your olfactory senses.

Branda groaned, "Brilliant," She muttered as the door into her quarters creaked close, "Just bloody brilliant." I heard her finish as the door shut.

I looked at the door for a moment then looked back to Bran, "I think that went well considering. It was nice having this little talk with your Brandon. Hopefully, we shall get to know each other some more in the future." And with that I was gone.

I wasn't all that surprised to find that the moment we had made port to see that a procession and honour guard was already waiting for us. The usual pleasantries and introductions were made and not long, we were making our way through the city.

Word had somehow spread through the city that I was going to be coming through and that had attracted something of a crowd. I hadn't even bothered to count as we made our way towards the Red Keep, but I smiled and waved all the same.

People cheered and sang out the names of me and my uncle, granted though, the Prince of Dragonflies as he was popularly known among the commons was far more known than little old me, but they cheered my name every second or third time as I rode beside my uncle, who himself smiled and waved.

He even stopped for a moment to bless the child of some random smallfolk woman, "He looks to be a strong lad." The Prince of Dragonflies said as he held the babe within his arms.

I was rather surprised by how the woman reacted. Yes, she had the awed look that royalty seemed to be paying attention to her whilst on the other hand, she seemed to be absolutely mortified for some strange reason, "M'p-prince, the rag would ruin your fine clothing." She stammered.

I nearly fell of my horse at hearing her reply. Let's not forget that a prince was basically holding her babe, but she was more worried about the state of my uncle's clothes? Priorities lady, I wanted to cry out.

My uncle took it in good stride and laughed, "Clothes can be washed. Now, what's his name?"

A flush crept across the woman's face, "Named 'im after me father, I did." My inner Grammar Nazi nearly came out then, even though it wasn't a point of grammar but elocution instead. Heh. Elocution Nazi, "Walter is his name, m'prince."

Uncle Duncan gave one strong nod, "A good and strong name for an equally strong lad." He planted a kiss on the babe's bald head and passed him back to his mother, "Raise him well, my lady. All the work we do, we do for our children."

The Prince of Dragonflies left the woman a near blubbering wreck by the time he got back on his horse and the procession carried on once more towards the Red Keep. I supposed I could now understand why Uncle Duncan was so loved among the people. He had a way with them.

That and the fact that apparently, there was a popular song about him and Jenny. Lucky bastard. He didn't even have to do anything and he already had himself free propaganda without even trying.

I had to think of some way of topping that one way or another.

King's Landing was large and with the crowds and the speed of our procession, it took us the better of at least two hours before we eventually able to make it to the courtyard of the Red Keep. It was then that I noticed that perhaps, the entirety of the royal court had been assembled right in front of me.

Me and Uncle Duncan were at the lead of the procession so we were the first to dismount ourselves from our horses. And for the first time since I arrived in this world, I saw the full breadth of my family. All of it.

Actually, hold on...where the fuck was Rhaella? I wanted to have words with her.

The first person that I noticed was the King Egg himself. Tall, slender and handsome, his eyes looked over me and his son. His hair was of a beaten gold with strands of silver woven together, but to me, well, to the memories of a younger Aerys, there was more silver to the king's hair and more lines of aging around his eyes and mouth.

Kingship it seemed, had not been easy on him.

Standing beside him was my grandmother, Queen Betha Blackwood or Black Betha. She looked as regal as I supposed a queen should have been a regal. Never actually met a queen, so I wouldn't know. Her expression didn't give anything away, but I thought I saw her face warming slightly at me and Duncan's presence.

That was a good sign I hoped.

Then my eyes drifted onto my pale and sickly looking father. I suppose he was handsome enough, but his frailty didn't do him any help. He wasn't as tall as Egg nor Duncan and didn't seem to have the same presence that I could feel from both of those two particular Targaryens.

To be honest, my mother, Princess Shaera had more of an aura or presence I supposed than him. What exactly she saw in him was beyond my comprehension and I had to fight quite the battle to keep my own distaste of their union from showing on my face. I wonder if I was actually ever going to get used to that.

Hopefully, yes.

I really didn't want that distaste to evolve to self-loathing to that would probably result in me throwing myself of the nearest tower to read myself of the feeling. A little dark? Yes. But I always had a talent for thinking dark thoughts when I really wanted to think them.

My aunt and Steffon's mother, Lady Rhaelle Baratheon stood beside her husband, Lord Ormund Baratheon, Hand of the Motherfucking King. Tall and fucking imposing, the man was taller than anyone I had ever seen. I swear the son of a bitch was like seven foot or something.

Queen Betha broke the silence as she stepped forward and embraced, first Duncan then me, in a warm hug, "Right then, where is my good daughter?" She asked looking around.

Branda stepped forward from wherever she had been standing, to stand beside me, "Here, Your Grace." She said with as precise a curtsey as one would get.

Black Betha tutted, "Rise now child. None of that. You are family now." She said as she pretty much pulled Branda to her feet.

Branda herself did rather well to catch her balance and not end up falling unceremoniously to the ground from the awkward position she had been pulled from. A few silent moments passed as Black Betha seemed intent to bore a hole into my wife and in her credit, Branda didn't back down in the slightest.

Eventually, the queen seemed to smirk, "Oh you'll do nicely. Very nicely indeed."

King Egg had made his way towards us by then, having had a small conversation with my uncle that I hadn't paid too much attention to, "Done scaring the young girl now, my lady?" He asked playfully.

My grandmother slid an arm around King Egg's own, "I was not scaring her, husband."

The Prince of Dragonflies agreed with that sentiment with a nod of his head, "If she genuinely wanted to scare my good-niece, we would all know it by now."

Branda was asking me a question with her eyes. A question I couldn't possibly know since I wasn't fucking psychic and that reading facial expressions was never my thing so I simply shrugged.

Lord Ormund had also made his way to the little group and looked around, well above the heads of the people assembled, "I seem to be unable to find my son. Steffon did leave with you on this...adventure of yours now, didn't he?"

I blinked as I turned around to search for my black haired cousin but I couldn't find the little bastard anywhere. I spotted Tywin and raised an eyebrow at him and all I got in response was a dull look that essentially told me that he didn't know.

His wife, the Lady Rhaelle was beside him, a smile on her lips, "Worry not, my lord. Steffon shall show himself soon or later. A man must east and sleep after all."

Lord Ormund's mouth was tight across his face, but he nodded nonetheless as he accepted that.

King Aegon V Targaryen took a moment to look around all the people that were in the procession, thanking the castle guard that had escorted us to the Red Keep before he finally turned his attention to us and smiled, "I suppose we have much and much more to speak off. Come now, let us head inside."

I prepared myself as we began to make our way towards Maegor's Holdfast. Words were going to be said and voices most likely going to be raised.

Perhaps that was the pessimist inside of me, but I'm sure my little venture north had more than likely upset my parents or perhaps more so my mother than anyone else.

I released a quiet sigh, I had supposed it was going to come to this sooner or later.


	6. Chapter 6

The king's office was spacious and lavishly furnished. To me, it seemed to have settled on some kind of balance between not being too ostentatious, but enough to show the wealth and power...mostly the wealth of the realm which was essentially House Targaryen.

The walls were adorned with tapestries that depicted dragons a flight or on the ground. Famous battles and even more famous individuals. One of the tapestries had three people worked into it, a male between two females. It didn't take much of a genius to figure out who those three were.

Targaryen themed tapestries were not the only furnishes to feature the room, on the floor, a Myrish carpet of the highest quality hugged the floor tightly and dotted around the room in an orderly fashion were tomes and books attaining to one thing or another.

All in all, everything in this room must have cost a pretty penny and considering that future Tywin had a thing for being ostentatious to show off the wealth of Casterly Rock, I assumed he was going to be even worse.

Having entered the office, my notice was taken by the sofa at the side and I made my way towards and took a seat on it. It had looked comfortable and it was damn well comfortable as well.

King Aegon made his way towards his desk, removing his crown and placing it upon it. He turned around and looked at the inhabitants of the office that included me, father and himself, "Aerys, it's good to have you back in the capital once again. Although you would have spared many much heart ache if you had told us where exactly you were going."

I tried my best to not give my grandfather, the good old 'are you stupid?' Look. Even he would know that if I had done that, no-one would have left me leave the castle in the slightest, "It was much a spur of the moment thing."

The crown prince frowned, "You spurned your sister on nothing more than a whim?"

"That's one of the reasons, I suppose." I replied evenly enough, "That and for the reason that she is my sister."

King Aegon raised an eyebrow at my stressing of the word, but apart from that, he did nothing to set himself within the current conversation happening in front of him between father and son. Prince Jaehaerys' frowned slightly as purple eyes narrowed for a moment as he looked at me, "You don't want to marry Rhaella? You never made any objections before."

"And would you have listened?" I asked. Truthfully, Aerys had never actually objected to the marriage between himself and his sister. He had silently just accepted it and gone about his usual daily life without a hitch.

My father was quiet for a moment before he answered, "Yes."

"That's bullshit and you know it." I replied as candidly as possible to the look of shock and surprise on dear old dad's face. The king seemed to raise a single eyebrow in surprise or interest, or amusement. Oh yeah, I sometimes forgot that I had not filter on my mouth when I found myself rather passionate about a particular subject.

It seemed as if Prince Jaehaerys was at a loss of words from my reply, "What?"

I continued, "You married mother because you two loved each other. You very well know me and Rhaella aren't very fond of each other. Seven hells, I'd be surprised if there was someone in the castle that didn't know that particular nugget of truth. Yet at the words of some random woods witch from the back-end of nowhere, you decide to betroth the two of us together because of some half-baked prophecy? Like I said, bullshit."

Prince Jaehaerys' blinked some and made to respond, "I didn't think you thought so strongly on this."

"You never gave me or Rhaella the chance to voice our opinions on the matter. You just took it as a matter of fact as if we were going to go with what you just said." I stopped and smirked somewhat, "Which I have to say, is quite hypocritical. You, Father, are a hypocrite. You should be ashamed of yourself." Oh my, I was mouthing of to my father without a care in the world and from the look on his face, it seemed as if he couldn't believe the words that were coming out of my mouth.

Truth be told, I couldn't quite understand the words coming out of my own mouth. Let it be known that when people said I needed to learn how to keep my mouth shut at times, they were actually talking sense. I just always thought they were jealous. I'm a funny guy with a tongue made of silver.

Well, that's what I like to tell myself. It's not like I babble on and on when I'm nervous or something.

Nothing like that at all.

Prince Jaehaery's face formed itself into a mask of stone as he lost the look of surprise on his face, "...I understand that you feel strongly on this subject, but I am still your father, Aerys and you will treat me with the respect that is due of you."

Okay, I will admit, for a sickly looking guy that at first glance didn't seem to have all that much of a presence to him or just downright anything, when he actually decided to let himself be known, he let himself known.

If I wasn't sitting down, I was sure that I would have taken that moment to take a step back as I was hit with the full force of my Father metaphorically putting his foot down. I suppose if it wasn't for the fack that he was probably going to die sometime in less than a decades time meant that Westeros lost out on a great ruler that could have put a shackle on Aerys or noticed the signs of his impending madness and did something about it.

I swallowed, "I apologise about that. It was out of line, but my points still stands." Yes, I was slightly out of line, but I wasn't bowling out on my accusation of Jaehaerys being nothing more than a grade-A bullshit swallowing hypocrite.

The Crown Prince's intensity lowered some as he relaxed and his face softened, "I suppose, but believe me Aerys, it was all for a good cause. The marriage between you and Rhaella. I'm sure you can understand that the happiness of the two of you means little to the greater good, no?"

Greater Good? Fuck that. This wasn't 40k and I was not a space ninja...communist...? I can't believe I forgot the nickname the fans had given the Tau. I was more of an IG guy, but the Tau were pretty decent guys in a horrible, horrible galaxy.

But back to the topic, I sorta knew what Prince Jaehaerys was trying to say, but I wasn't in this for the Greater Good. Nop. I was in it for my own self-survival.

I'm selfish like that, especially now that I've found myself in a world that took the Medieval Ages that weren't all that bad and made it worse by adding magic, demons and zombies whilst ramping up the usual human bastardry up to twelve.

I honestly couldn't remember if this was from the books or the T.V. show, but I was going to borrow this particular quote, "See, prophecy is like a half-trained mule. But at the very moment that you start to trust in it, it kicks your head in." I nodded at myself with a small pleased smile on my face, "I would like to know of one single time that prophecy actually was useful in any form of way."

My Father and Grandfather shared a look between each other and then looked back at me, both of them, before speaking at the same time on some unheard signal, "Daenaerys the Dreamer."

Oh.

I know of that name.

Well, not me, me, but Aerys, me. She was the girl that happened to give out the early warning alert of whatever happened to Valyria.

Fuck.

"...That's like only one. A complete and utter statistical anomaly." I tried to salvage this to the best of my ability, "It doesn't count." Yes, I did not have a single reply for that apart from the age old tested and true childish reminder of, 'it doesn't count'.

Don't fail me now, old and tested answer from my childhood.

Grandfather seemed almost amused, "I do believe it does." He said, speaking up once more, "If not for her, there would be no Targaryens. I think that means a lot more than you are willing to admit."

He had a point, but I had a point to prove as well, even if that point was sinking badly into the waters faster than the Titanic.

I could feel my mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. I was actually on a blank, I couldn't think of something to say and Father decided to interject into this little conversation, looking somewhat pleased with something, "What? Nothing to say, son of mine? No quips or japes?"

"Give me sometime and I'll probably think of something." Truth be told, I was never the fastest when it came to snark-to-snark combat. Sometime, it just came to me, others, I would flounder and flop around like a fish.

"Time you don't have." That serious face of Prince Jaehaerys came onto this face again as he leaned back into his seat. He crossed his arms as if he was in deep though, "I had half a mind to see if I could wed you to Rhaella regardless of your current marriage to the Stark girl."

I had a couple of points that I needed to voice, "First of all, that 'Stark girl' has a name. And it's Branda." I listed of and continued onto my second and far more pressing point, "Second, that would be a stupid thing to do. Marry me to Rhaella when I'm already married to Branda. Last time I checked, the Faith doesn't condone such a thing and we don't have dragons to keep them cowed...or the lords for that matter. I mean, you have to be an utter idiot not to realise that the Faith has more influence among the commons than the throne and nobility combined."

I think I saw some sort of light in my Father's eyes of one emotion or another but which, I didn't have the slightest idea. Reading emotions and facial expressions was never my thing, especially if it was extremely subtle, "I'm quite genuinely surprised that you are aware of such a thing. I had expected your mind to be taken by other...matters. I'm glad that you are aware enough to be able to note such things, as basic and rudimentary as they are."

Wait hold up, did Jaehaerys either praise me or insult me? Was this a backhanded compliment? I was still trying to figure it out, "Thank...you?" Seriously, did Aerys' own Father not have that much faith in his abilities?

Grandfather Egg silently bobbed his head up and down near his kingly desk, "Your lord father had come to me with this plan of his, but thankfully, he knew better." His eyes drifted over from my Father who had squirmed slightly in his seat like a child underneath the glare of their father...which had just happened and then onto me, "Unfortunately, there's still another matter that has to be settled."

I cocked my head to the side, "Such as?"

"Your marriage. I have nothing against it, in fact, I'm rather pleased about it. We need more allies," If I don't know any better, I was sure that a glare or a very strong look was levelled in Father's direction before quickly coming back to me and softening up, "Although you could have chosen a wife from one of the Great Houses closer to us."

"I called, none were available." My joke did not receive the reception it deserved, "...Forget about it."

Egg just nodded his head slowly before continuing to speak, "You shall need to be wed in a Sept. By the High Septon. With the eyes of the lords and ladies of the realm watching. I don't particularly care for this theatrics, but it has to be done. Some more...conservative elements of the Faith might protest at having a future king wed in front of a Heart Tree." He smiled somewhat, "I had to do it as well. Some days before my coronation that is."

Huh, so people actually cared about that? Can't believe that I had actually thought of that possibility. Maybe I wasn't so bad at this whole planning stuff or maybe it was just common sense? Hmm, one to ponder.

I smiled sheepishly, "Well, I suppose we have to give what the people want. Can't be helped at all."

XxX

See, when I had first woke up in westeros...well, that was a minor lie, after quite a few hours after I had woken up in westeros, I was wondering how I was going to go the usual uplift route and thing. I mean, that's what every insert did back on the forums and stories that I read.

Well, except for that one that decided to go to essos and eek out a living as a mercenary.

Still did well for himself.

...Great, now I'm never going to know how any of those stories finish. Or be able to witness some of the amusing comments that those stories always brought.

Argh, thinking about home was depressing. It made me depressed, especially with the knowledge that I was only a couple of months away until FIFA 17 was going to be released and now I wasn't even going to be able to play it.

But back to the topic, the thing is, westeros has been stuck in a medieval society with associated tech base for thousands of years. It wasn't that innovation didn't happen, it did happen, just it took an obscene amount of time due to various factors.

I like to think one of these factors being a rather insular culture that actually won't pick up anything unless someone forcefully introduces it, and geography. Think about it, the Free Cities are more advanced in term of culture and society than westeros, Braavos more than most. I had read somewhere that it was early Renaissance or some analogy of that particular time.

My tutor, Maester Gyldayn...yes, that Gyldayn, with all the cultural superiority he could muster about the Andals and westeros in general had grudgingly admitted that the Essosi were better than us honest folk in some fields, like finance and industry and literature among other things.

The thing though, just because it took some time for things to be invented, it also meant that when it came to some things, they knew what they were doing. For example, you know that other thing that inserts always like to introduce, canning? They have that.

Quite advanced, but then again, I'm not at all versed in how advanced because I'm not a canning expert or anything like that, but all I know is that they know how to can and preserve the shit out of things. Although, in their case, it's large scale canning, none of the home scale canning that we have back at home.

They also had Arabic numerals...or a close enough copy that it was very difficult to even consider them separate numbering systems. A zero existed.

Their origin? Valyria, who borrowed the numbering system from the YiTish who either came up with the system or borrowed it from somewhere else.

Another thing, you know the four field system or the Norfolk system as I learned in school? Yeah, they have that. Have had it for years.

They also had fertiliser, but of the natural kind. Not the artificial stuff.

I was going to try and change that and honestly, I didn't have high hopes for this. For starters, I barely recalled the shit I read about fertilisers and my chemistry is horrendous.

All I could recall about the artificial stuff was nitrogen fertilisers which had something to do with ammonia...which was probably either a result of nitrogen or a natural occurring element...

Then there was potash, which had something to do with Potassium.

...Yeah, I wasn't really holding out for anything, but at the very least, I was trying right? And that was why I figured I might as well go and enlist the help of the best fucking chemists in the fucking world as far as I cared.

The Pyromancers.

As far as was I concerned, if someone could make a supped up version of Greek fire that didn't know when to quit, then they were clearly the best in their field. Pretty sure there was some magic involved, there had to be magic involved, but I didn't care.

These guys were good.

And that was why I was meeting the head pyromancer. I had come unannounced and the acolyte that has greeted us had stared at me and my company with wide eyes at my presence before running off to get the guy sitting in front of me. To be honest, I didn't really know what I had been expecting.

I hadn't been expecting the fact that the pyromancers guildhall was fucking underground and that it was fucking freezing. I hadn't been expecting to find that the head pyromancer was a rather nice fellow, smiling and laughing.

Or was he just nervous because I was probably the first royalty to visit their guildhall, in like years?

"I apologise for the current state of our offices, Your Grace." The man said, licking his lips as a smile came across his face, "It's been so long since we guested someone of your position."

"A long while, I take it?" I asked. I was alone in the room with him, Ser Gwayne, had come to like the young knight, standing guard on the other side of the door we were in.

"Not since the time of King Maegor." The pyromancer admitted sheepishly.

Didn't know what was sheepish about that, but alright. Whatever floated his boat. I cleared my throat and decided to get to the crux of the matter. Like I said, their guildhall was underground and it was fucking freezing.

"I've come to employ your guild for a very specific matte-." I stopped for a moment and blinked. Fertilizer? Why stop there? Why not get actual stable Greek fire instead of the bullshit this lot used? It was green and did the same thing except that it could be quenched...I think. Probably not, but I was probably safer to handle than the bullshit of the pyromancers. That and gunpowder? I mean why not? Might as well go that route...and if I could only now remember all of the ingredients apart from saltpeter and something else...and something about a ratio or something? "-Matters." I corrected myself.

The pyromancer raised an eyebrow, "Such as?"

"Artificial fertilizer."

The pyromancer made a face and wordlessly moved his lips, "Artifishal?" He repeated, testing out the word as if he's never heard of it, "What does that word mean? It sounds somewhat Valyrian." He laughed sheepishly, "I was never instructed in that particular language unfortunately."

"Man made." I explained to him.

The pyromancer rubbed his chin, "Man made fertiliser? I don't think I've ever heard of such a thing, my prince. How do we go about with such a thing?"

"With a substance called ammonia." I told him helpfully.

He blinked at me blankly, "Never heard of it, my prince." He replied to me plainly.

I tried to explain, to the best of my abilities, which wasn't all that good to be honest, "Ammonia is extracted from nitrogen..." Remember when I said that innovation might not be a thing here, but when it came to what they knew, they knew there stuff? They certainly knew their stuff.

Nitrogen was a thing, although I don't know whether it was actually nitrogen, nitrogen, or maybe my brain mainly translating the word that I had read in some book about the elements of the world and giving me the closest approximation. Like Google Translate.

I think I made a fool of myself for like ten minutes before the pyromancer eventually got the gist of it. I didn't know whether he was taking me seriously or just entertaining a foppish noble who happened to be royalty and thus liable to have him killed at the slightest slight.

If it was the former, great, if it was the latter, not great. So I decided to seal the deal, "If you are able to create this substance, not the substance that suddenly alights on fire, by the way, I would be more than willing to patron your guild for any future projects that might need chemists of your pedigree." I made a deliberate sigh, "I had hoped that I wouldn't have to go to the Citadel with this, as it might have caused me to raise a second...'Citadel' if you wish in this very city rather than go to a group of people who are more than capable enough."

The pyromancer's nostrils flared, "Bah! Those grey rats of the Citadel are barely the chemists that we are. Don't worry, my prince, this ammonia and potash...we shall create them, even if it is the death of me." I would really hope not, "I shall work on it personally along with the best and brightest of the guild."

And like that, he might as well have flown out of the room, nearly crashing into Ser Gwayne as he barely got out of the way. Had to give it to the knight, he had a quick reaction time. He looked at me in confusion after looking down the hallway the pyromancer had run off in.

I shrugged as I got to my feet, "I might tell you later." I actually didn't need to tell Ser Gwayne jackshit, but he nodded nonetheless.

I stepped into the hallway and began to make out way out. Had to ask a random acolyte for directions after getting lost two minutes in, "Anymore stops today, my prince?" Ser Gwayne asked as he shadowed behind me and the young acolyte that was leading us towards the exit.

"One more, I think." I told him, "We are going to make some rounds on some of the cities orphanages."

I could hear the slight sound of metal on metal and the shingle of chain as Ser Gwayne have a slight nod of his head. I was a tad bit deflated that he didn't ask why.

Probably a good reason as well. Ser Gwayne was a good guy at heart, don't know what he would think about child spies...I didn't know what to think about child spies, until I told myself that this way, I can survive a day longer than everybody else.

After all, I was numero uno as far as I was concerned.

Thankfully, Varys had given me a blueprint on building a rather brilliant spy network...just the general idea, but nothing about the logistics. That was something I was going to have to think for myself, or involve someone that I trusted explicitly.

...Man, not even a year and Westeros had already made me paranoid as all hell.

Fuck my life.


	7. Chapter 7

XxX

Ser Gwayne was looking at me with the most incredulous look that one would give a member of the family that he had sworn to protect his entire life with, could possibly give without seeming impundent. Or something.

"Excuse me, my prince, but you want me to what?" The young knight asked, standing there, still incredulous judging by the look on his face.

I pushed the sack of coins into his hands, "I want you to take this sack of coins and walk about King's Landing, looking as shady as possible whenever you spot a patrol of goldcloaks."

He nodded his head as he followed along with my explanation. He didn't even ask about the meaning of 'shady' by now having pretty much having received an explanation to the slang that I used every now and then, habits I can't find myself removing.

The only other people who could understand without giving me a look of confusion when said slang turned up was Branda, Steffon and Tywin. To be honest, when it came to Tywin, I just don't think he cared all that much about what I said.

"And I should do this why?" He asked, his nodding tapering off.

"I want to test the integrity of the goldcloaks." I stopped for a moment, "Well, not all of them, but some of them."

Ser Gwayne was not only good with a sword but with his head as well, "You want me to see if there are any corrupt goldcloaks."

I nodded my head eagerly, "Yes." To be honest, I had my resevations about the goldcloaks. They seemed far too inclined into serving whoever paid them or whoever they liked and that was something I really didn't like in case I actually needed them for something, you know, required a little bite against someone who probably had more money in the bank than me.

It was a good thing that they were on my list of things to reform. Can't be paying some couple of thousand of armed people with questionable loyalties and all that roaming around my city and powerbase.

No. Just no.

Just like how everything Egg ran seemed to be pretty decent, I was pretty sure that the goldcloaks were full of pretty decent people themselves who worked to uphold the law and order of the capital, but westeros was like what happened when you gave cynicism steroids. It wasn't pretty and you didn't want to particularly know it.

This little idea of mine would be enough to weed out the corrupt elements of the goldcloaks whilst at the same time, with enough time and repetition, force any goldcloaks with the idea of earning some extra cash the healthy fear of something of an Internal Affairs Bureau that was ready to put an end to that very idea.

After all, if they were offered cash to ignore something, how would they know that cash was coming from a legit person that actually wanted to bribe them instead of putting them in shackles and into the black cells for corruption?

I had to admit, I was stealing the idea from a Byzantine emperor that had apparently gone out of his way to reduce the corruption of his city watching by going out at night disguised as a civilian and bribing the corrupt members whilst rewarding the ones that were actually, doing, you know, their jobs.

It would work even better if I was the one doing the catfishing(?) honeytrapping(?) or whatever the term is, but I had a pretty recognisable face and features.

That, and I shall bare say this dares repeating, I was a coward. A bloody coward and a half.

Ser Gwayne pocketed the money, "And when I come across them and they accept my bribe, what then?"

I thought about it for a moment. I had not particularly thought this true. Their were no mini-cams available or cameras or anything of the sort, so how was I going to get the faces of the people that were clearly corrupt?

"Eh, improvise?" I offered as a suggestion.

The young knight just gave me a dullard look before he inclined his upper body in a bow, "As you wish, my prince."

Before he left on this little mission of mine, a quick thought came to my mind, "Oh yes, take some Targaryen guardsmen as back-up just in case things get ugly. But keep them out of sight." Ser Gwayne nodded before he went off to carry out his mission.

No doubt that he would visit Ser Duncan first and inform him of this little task that I had set upon him, but as of late, the tall, tall man had been more than inclined for me to go around following my whims and everything else that included.

I had a feeling, not a particularly strong one, but a feeling nonetheless that King Egg and my Father were also somewhat aware of my extra-curricular activities, but had decided to sit back and see the results of whatever actions that I was taking.

I wasn't dumb.

Just because Egg kept the Red Keep and King's Landing working like clockwork did not mean that other people, like the other Lord Paramounts didn't have their own spies and informants. My actions were of particular note in court lately ever since my return from the north with a wife in tow.

My visit to the Alchemist's Guild. The many and various orphanages that I visited and now benefactor off among other things. I was the talk of the town.

Which was new for me since I was never a subject of gossip or anything. I was rather boring in truth.

So the attention was somewhat something I didn't know how to deal with, so I just took my usual root of ignoring it as if it didn't exist. That was either a good or bad policy.

"Aerys."

I was brought out of my reverie by Prince Duncan. I blinked as I looked at the older man and wondered how he had been able to enter my own personal offices without the slightest sound or alerting me.

He gave me the answer rather unwittingly, "I knocked at your door, no answer. I called out to you twice, no answer. What exactly are you so deep in thought off exactly? I'm rather curious, I admit."

Was I that far gone in my own mind? The thought was horrifying, "Nothing much, uncle."

That didn't seem to be the answer that my dear uncle wanted to hear from me as he continued to press on for more answers, "Is it about the Alchemists?"

I narrowed my eyes, "What about the Alchemists?" The reason why I had chosen them for some of my projects was simply because those guys knew how to keep a secret.

I couldn't really say the same about the Citadel or the maesters.

"Nothing." Duncan replied with a subtle shrug of the shoulders, "Whatever you and the alchemists talked about, I've heard nothing about. Truth be told, you don't hear much about the alchemists, even if you want to. They keep to themselves vast majority of the time."

I was able to hold back a sigh of relief that was just begging to be released, "Good thing it should stay that way of course." Duncan frowned somewhat and that took me back slightly, "What?"

"I hope you know what you are doing, Aerys. As royalty, the people we meet, the people who we know, the things that we do, they will always be scrutinized by the lords and ladies...and perhaps among some of the more affluent commons. Everything we do is always of interest."

I ran a hand through my hair, "You have nothing to worry about uncle. I merely contacted the alchemists for nothing more than a project of mine."

An eyebrow was raised in interest, "A project that you couldn't commission from the Citadel itself?"

I looked around the room and noticed that we were alone, then I remembered that in the Red Keep, the walls had eyes and ears of their own. I think I went the more diplomatic route in my response. Probably, "There are somethings the maesters can do and others that they can't. The same goes for the alchemists. I just think that the alchemists are more suited for the project I commissioned them for."

Duncan slowly nodded his head before speaking up once more, "Then what about the orphanages that you've been visiting of lately? And the artificers and blacksmiths? What about them? What do you have them working on?"

I sunk into my seat slightly and gave an apprehensive look at my uncle, "Have you been following me?"

He gently laughed in amusement, "Aerys, you are a very noticeable young man. You stand out."

Well, I did have silver-gold hair and I was a walking Adonis, so yeah, I suppose I was very noticeable, "I suppose I should come up with new ways to make myself less noticeable then. We can't all have plain, common features like you."

My uncle laughed again, "Plain you say? I'll have you know, many a maiden have swooned and fainted at my so called 'plain, common' features."

"They had low standards. I wouldn't take it to mean much." I said, waving him off. We laughed at my comment before I took a deep breath to calm myself before speaking once more, "So...about the orphanages and the artificers and the blacksmiths, what do you know?"

"I'm more knowledgeable about the blacksmiths and the artificers. You are having them build something for you, what, I don't know. The orphanages though? That's more along the lines of Mother's interests. She's rather curious as to why you are sponsoring orphanages to teach the children how to read, along with numbers and sports?"

Oh yeah, that had complete flown through my head. Queen Betha was a significant political force, but most of her attention was rested on charitable causes like orphanages and soup kitchens dotted throughout the city.

Now I was beginning to understand why she was so loved among the smallfolk. If I didn't know any better, I wouldn't think that they though Queen Betha as the second coming of Queen Alysanne.

I shrugged and gave a vague answer, "I have my reasons. Still though, why do you know so much about what I've been doing anyway?"

Duncan smiled, "You stand out. That, and it's sort of my duty to know what actually happens in King's Landing."

I cocked my head to the side, "Last time I checked, you are not the master of whisperers." That little title actually belonged to a lord that I had never heard off before. Some bloke named Ser Joffrey Massey.

Didn't know much about him in truth, but apparently, he must have been good at his job since he had been there since the previous administration.

Black locks of hair swayed as Duncan shook his head, "No. But in my capacity as Chancellor of King's Landing, it's within my purview to know the happenings that happen in the capital."

I stared at my uncle for a moment as I tried to process the information that he had just given me. I just had one question, "Pardon my language uncle, but what in the seven hells is a Chancellor of King's Landing?"

He laughed, "Well, in it's barest form, I'm basically the Steward for King's Landing and the various townships within the direct rule of the king."

I tried to turn that he told me into something that I could understand or comprehend. I think I was able to get a good idea of what he was trying to say. I think, basically, he was in charge of the administrative duties of the king's own holdings.

"...So you like a Steward, but for King's Landing?" And did he say townships? There were towns around King's Landing?

Duncan nodded, "Your Grandfather is in charge of running Seven Kingdoms and two regions. That's more than enough work without needing to add the fact that he has to oversee his own holdings as well."

"...Well, that makes sense." It made a lot of sense. Considering that the Iron Throne ruled over an entire continent, I'm surprised that there wasn't some vast bureaucracy making sure that everything seemed to run smoothly.

Mind you though, if a bureaucracy did exist for an entire continent, it was probably going to make the Byzantium bureaucracy look utterly tame in comparison.

"Shouldn't you be busy overseeing Dragonstone though? I mean, that is your seat."

He waved me off, "That passed to your lord father when I abdicated my right to the throne. I was given this duty by your grandfather to keep me from doing nothing."

"Must be rather good at doing your duty then." I wondered if there was some overlapping conflict of jurisdiction or something when it came to the job. Considering that the goldcloaks where underneath the master of laws and my assuming that the Chancellor was also in judge of law and order in the city, there was room for some kind of conflict there.

Maybe some sort of agreement was in place? Meh, why did I care? It had nothing to do with me.

Prince Duncan rose up from his seat, dusting away imaginary dust from his fine clothing, "Alright, I didn't come here to find you and have a little talk with my nephew."

I raised an eyebrow in confusion, "Then why did you come here?"

My uncle smiled down at me with a glint in those purple eyes of his, "You are my squire and I do believe it's been sometime since I last had you doing things worthy of a squire."

I groaned, "You don't even wear armour. I'm not cleaning any armour that you are not going to wear."

He laughed as he shook his head, "I have the worst squire in the world. Insubordinate and far too pampered for my liking. I suppose I shall have to knock some sense into you."

I retreated slightly into my seat, "Do we have to? I'm no warrior. Can't we just not have me be knocked about senseless?"

Prince Duncan shook his head and tried his best to look at the littlest bit remorseful. He was failing badly at the last part, "Sorry no. It has to happen. Remember, how good you are with a sword also reflects on how good a knight I was to my own squire who happened to be my nephew. Think of my own sacrifices that I put into this."

I rose to my own feet defeated, "What sacrifices? I sometimes think you enjoy beating me senseless." I returned as we made for the exit.

Prince Duncan held the door open for me as we made our way to the training ground, "...Sometimes."

As we walked down the hallway with our white shadows, I released a groan. One of many that were going to be released by the time this came to an end.


	8. Chapter 8

**258AC – 259AC**

Looking at myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but admit that I looked very dapper. Taking it in one more time, I did a little twirl and smiled, "You sir, have done a very good job. More than I asked for." I said to the tailor that had done a very good job in tailoring the very modern looking suit from nothing more than a drawing I had given him.

Even more surprised that a working, modern zipper had actually been added to the trousers.

The tailor bowled a little from where he stood, "You praise me too much, my prince."

"I praise you too little you mean. You certainly deserve your title of the best tailor in the city."

I had nothing against the clothes of the period and some of those very clothes were very cool looking, but really, I was the type to wear jeans or joggers or tracksuits. I think tracksuits were a little bit out of my league but joggers were doable.

And that had nothing to do with the suit apart from the fact that I just wanted to show off with this very brilliant looking fashion that no-one had ever seen before in their entire life. I rubbed at my breast were an embroidered three headed, red dragon lay.

Not really a choice of mine, sort of ruined the suit, but had to show the family colours and heraldry and all that bollocks.

Princess Shaera Targaryen, my mother or Aerys' mother or whatever, took a moment to observe the obviously very strange clothing I wore, walking around me like some sort of lioness looking for some sort of weakness on her prey, "Never seen a fashion like this before," She said eventually, stopping in front of me as she smoothed down any creases in the fabric on my shoulders, "...But I admit, I like it. It's very new and something never seen before."

"Which is the problem." Black Betha remarked, another female relative that had taken it upon themselves without invite to make sure that I looked appropriate for the ceremony that was to come, "It looks fashionable and nice, I admit, but something that other might not take as appropriate for a royal wedding."

Yes. Wedding.

My second one to the same woman in more accepted circumstances and appropriate venue that wasn't a tree.

I had completely forgotten about this little thing despite having talked about it with Egg and Jaehaerys when I had first made it into the city. In my defence, that had been weeks ago and other things had been more on my mind than anything else.

"I wasn't aware there was some sort of dress code to a royal wedding." I said, releasing myself from my mother's grip as I made my way to the side for a glass the decanters that held a selection of fine winery. I needed a drink.

Queen Betha was more than willingly to let me know that a dress code did in fact exist, "The finest clothing a lord owns." Which wasn't much of an explanation in truth.

I stopped short of the drinks and looked at my grandmother. I think she ignored the look on my face that was probably more along the lines of incredulity, "I'm wearing Myrish silks among other things. Expensive ones at that. Last time I checked, that's more than some lords own." This entire suit had cost me more than a pretty penny.

Silks from Myr that were considered the finest. Wool as well for the suit.

"You are missing the point." Betha returned and my mother rolled her eyes.

"What point?" I asked, confused. I think I had a right to be confused, what point was I missing?

Princess Shaera moved forward and put a gentle hand to my face. Her eyes smiled as she made it far more relatable to me, "I think what my lady mother is trying to say that your...suit," She said slowly, "Might cause more a spectacle and people to talk about something else other than a wedding of a prince of the blood."

I nodded, "That's the whole point. They are supposed to talk about how fantastic I look." To be honest, I admit, I was a bit of a peacock back on Earth, but only when it mattered such as nights out, but I had slowly come to realise that I tended to dress up even more nowadays.

I suspect that was something I subconscious picked up from Aerys.

The ends of Shaera's lips twitched and threatened to widen in full blown laughter, "And what of your lady wife? This is her day as well."

"Well too bad for her." I returned easily enough, "She should have put more effort into it."

Black Betha snorted in the back, "I think you pampered him too much Shaera. Never seen a lord care so much for his appearance more than him before."

To be honest, that was probably true. If things didn't change, then until Renly was born, if that was still going to happen, then she was in for a shock. If she lived long enough to see him become a young adult that is.

One of the things I remembered from the books was that apparently, Renly dressed far better than the ladies of the court. That and he mostly outspend most of them when it came to that department.

Shaera pinched one of my cheeks as if I was a child, "I love him just as he is. Including all his bad faults."

Bad faults? Lady, I was perfect. Didn't know what she was talking about. I removed her hand and fingers away from my cheek, "I think it's about time that we began making our way to the Great Sept."

"Still grumbling about that?" Queen Betha more or less asked. She shook her head as she smoothed out the skirts of her dress, "Yes, I know we have a sept right here in the Red Keep, big enough to seat near all the great lords and then some, but the commons must also see you on this auspicious day."

"They have seen me plenty enough this past month."

Her eyes rested on me, dark eyes looking for something...probably, "Yes. Some, but not all."

"And anyhow, Father has marked this day as a day of celebration." The princess that was my mother injected into the conversation, "Has made preparations for the people to see their prince marry his northern love. Would you take that away from them?"

Yes. But I didn't let them know that.

She held out an arm, "Come now, I think it's time we go." She said as I hooked my arm around hers.

And so we went.

Branda and her own entourage that included ladies-in-waiting and her family had gone ahead to the Great Sept. Whilst she had taken a carriage, I was to ride a horse.

Because you know, reasons. Even if I far preferred the less active option of riding in a carriage.

Targaryen guardsmen numbering in the hundreds and goldcloaks had littered the main road that led directly from the castle to the sept, acting as living cordons from the thousands of thousands of smallfolk that were cheering and shouting their good graces and praises.

I waved and smiled as I rode along the street, my own entourage including my sort of quasi-best men since such a position didn't exist consisting of Steffon Baratheon and Tywin Lannister. Steffon was waving and shouting and since Tywin didn't smile, he had gone for the closest thing that he would be able to do, which was give as something as close to a warm expression he could give.

We made good progress and it was already noon with the sun hanging lazily atop us by the time we reached the Great Sept of Baelor. Even at a distance, the sept looked far too big and even closer, it looked even more ridiculously big.

Apparently, when it came to architecture and structural engineering...if that was a thing, the Westerosi really knew their stuff considering how big everything was. Then again, GRRM's lack of scale was evidently known among the fandom, so I suppose that also translated somehow into the fictional world that he had created.

Branda had been waiting for me just before the great oaken doors decorated with holy symbols that led into the mail hall of the sept. I admit, I sort of paused for a moment to take another look at my wife and well, I had admit, she looked even more hella pretty with her hair done and make-up and all that malarky applied as well.

She studied me for a second when she saw before raising an eyebrow, "What are you wearing?"

"Clothes." I replied as I neared my approach to her, "What are you wearing? Because whatever it is, it's certainly working for you."

Her eyebrows narrowed some, "Oh? Could it be that whatever else I'm wearing doesn't work for me most of the time?"

I blinked and opened and closed my mouth a few times. I see how my comment could be taken. Had to save my arse here, "You make everything you wear work for you, my lady." I said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek, "You know that." Behind me, I could hear Steffon trying to be quiet with his laughing at my expense. If he wasn't so scarily strong and faster than me, I would give the not so little bastard a whack on the head.

"I would hope so." She turned towards the heavy doors as they were slowly being opened, "Now, I believe it's time we get this mummer's farce over and done with already."

When the doors were fully open into the cavernous main hall of the sept, my hand had found Branda's and having recited this quite a couple of times, we made our way towards the altar that stood between the Mother and the Father. Safe to say, I was at the side were the Father stood and Branda were the Mother stood.

There were probably hundreds upon hundreds of rows of lords that had travelled from all across Westeros to be here for this very ceremony. All of them no doubt were wearing their House colours with their crests on show, but damned if I could remember any of them since I wasn't particularly paying attention to any of them.

Plenty of witnesses that couldn't be denied the validity of this entire marriage.

Right, let's just get things out here out in the open and everything.

I hate weddings.

Well, hate is a strong word. It's just I don't particularly care for them. To me, marriage was essentially trusting someone with half my stuff and that was if I was lucky when it came to the divorce terms, because honestly, I was never much for optimism. I was born a cynic and sceptic and marriage was one of those things that had far too many negatives and uncertainties for me to ever be swayed by the idea.

I respected people that were somehow able to tolerate each other's presence for as long as they did, like my grandparents had been going on with each other for sixty years strong, but that was a statistical outlier as far as I was concerned. I just didn't care for marriage and in that regard weddings.

In this case, it was more along the lines I didn't particularly have a choice. It was either get married to my sister or to someone who was not my sister. I doubt I could have convinced someone to let me be a bachelor for the rest of my life.

So I think that qualified for the old saying that I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

So yeah, I dislike weddings and marriages which is why it was all a blare as far as I was concerned. Mostly because I tried my best to lose myself in my thoughts so that everything could just go by faster. Of course this being a wedding inside a church, I'm sure there was some singing, praying and vows being taken.

Then came the changing of the cloaks, signalling that my wife had left the protection of her father, Rodrik Stark and into the protection of her husband, me. I think the most interesting part of the entire ceremony happened to have been that particular part.

Why? Because my goodfather just so happened to give me the whole 'hurt her, and I'll make you pay' spiel. Again.

I was beginning to think that he did the entire thing again just because he was about as bored as I was to the whole wedding ceremony. I'm pretty sure the northern version of the wedding had ended faster than this.

People clapped and cheered when everything was done. We made our way outside the hall and into the great big world outside. Standing atop the great marble stairs that led towards the Great Sept, me and Branda, hand in hand, raised our hands up into the sky for all the cheering smallfolk to see.

They were somehow louder than the all of the hundreds of people that had been inside the sept by quite the number of decibels. Probably had something to do with them being, you know, numbering in the thousands.

After that, things got messy. It started off nice enough with a ride back to the castle, me and my wife with every noble in tow behind us. Then came the reception and the drinking and then everything went dark.

I might have drank too much. Hopefully, I didn't make an idiot out of myself too much.

XxX

I hate life and everything that it entailed. Like at this very moment, I hated everyone in this very room.

I was beginning to think that they were making all this noise just to see me suffer as I tried my best to weather through the massive hangover that was going on in my head.

I hated Benjen Stark the most out of everyone in the world. His laughter was certainly far different than I last remembered it and it certainly wasn't as boom-y as it was now as he roughly patted me on my back, "At least now I understand why you didn't drink as much when you wed at Winterfell. Who knew you were such a lush?"

I wasn't. It was because Aerys' body didn't have anything on my old body when it came to endurance. I shied away from him, "Please stop. The drums in my head are loud enough as it is."

Uncle Duncan smiled at the side, "I suppose we should have stopped you earlier. Most would be worried on whether you were capable of bedding your lovely wife, but I suppose that is something we don't have to worry about considering the circumstances."

Don't know how he was doing it and how he seemed completely fine considering the fact that I'm sure the man had outdrank many of the other lords last night, Rodrik Stark was busy enjoying himself a mug of beer and didn't seem to be suffering anything like I was, "Some of the other lords might have that very same question on their minds right about. Most of them southrons I saw didn't seem all too bright."

Prince Duncan laughed. I eyed Rodrik with disbelief, "How are you drinking even now? You drank more than enough last night."

My goodfather scoffed, "I'm insulted that you have to ask. I come from good northern stock. We are far more durable than you foppish southrons."

"In their defence, uncle, not all the southrons are foppish." Brandon said from the side, flipping away at the pages of some book he probably found in the royal library. He looked up from his reading, "Ser Duncan, Lord Ormund among others don't look quite as foppish as you seem to insist the southrons are."

Rodrik snorted, "Bah, a few good eggs doesn't hide the bad ones."

"I hope I am among those few good eggs, Lord Brandon." Prince Duncan said with a smile, always with a smile with that guy.

The Wandering Wolf drank from his mug, "We'll see, my friend. We'll see."

Actually, why where these people here? Last time I checked, this was my solar and they had been here the moment I stepped out from mine and Branda's personal chambers. Before I could voice this particular question, the door opened and I groaned, wondering who else was here to make this particular day worse for me.

I quirked an eyebrow when the others rose to their feet and bowed and noticed that it was my grandfather that had walked in. I quickly got to my feet and regretted it as a wave of nausea hit me from the speed of the act. I bowed as safely as I could, "Grandfather." I said in greeting whilst the others apart from Prince Duncan greeted with the standard 'Your Grace' and the prince with the not so standard 'Father'.

King Aegon had a rather serious looking expression on her face as he motioned the others to retake their sits, "Please, do sit."

Prince Duncan noticed his expression and the tone that he was using. He didn't take his seat and instead leaned forward slightly, a hand resting on the table that laid in the middle of the room, "What is it, Your Grace?"

Prince Aegon looked from wherever he was looking to Duncan and then to everyone around the room. He sighed, "I suppose it makes no matter as I'm sure the news will spread throughout the court and the city soon enough."

"News?" Rodrik asked, interest in the tone of his voice.

"The Band of Nine has met underneath the Tree of Crowns and have vowed to help each other pursue their goals."

I blinked. Band of Nine? I think I should know what that meant.

Rodrik frowned, "Band of Nine? Last time I heard, there were eight of them. Who's the ninth?"

"Maelys Blackfyre." King Aegon replied tonelessly.

Everyone in the solar was quiet as the news sank in. No really, the news sank in as I realised what this fucking meant. The fucking Ninepenny War.

Brandon moved towards the table, "I doubt this Band of Nine have joined together just for a picnic."

His brother was biting at his lip, "Underneath a rather ominous sounding Tree of Crowns? Must be one hell of a picnic." He looked from his father towards the king, "It's going to be another Blackfyre War isn't it?"

The king could only nod, "By the looks of it, aye."

"Which Blackfyre Rebellion is it going to be now? I've lost count. They've been far too many of them." Rodrik growled as he clenched at his mug, "Bout time the entire line is dealt with once and for all. Put an end to these Pretenders."

Considering he now had family that would be in harms way if the Blackfyres were able to install themselves as the King of the Seven Kingdoms, I wasn't surprised that he would be all up for killing them all.

"It would be the Fifth Blackfyre Rebellion, good ser." Prince Duncan said as he slowly took his seat, "But we mustn't be quick to make any rush decisions. This...'Band of Nine' has yet to make any moves that could threaten us."

Wolf-like eyes darted towards the prince, "Doesn't mean we just have to sit here waiting for this Maelys or whatnot to come and ram us up the rear. If we are not going to meet them wherever the Band is, we might as well prepare."

"That we shall, my lord." King Aegon said, iron, controlling tones heard in his voice, "I've already begun making preparations in case this Band of Nine is truly a threat to the realm."

"Well, at least look at it this way," The others suddenly had their attentions on me, "Whatever crowns these lot are after, they mustn't be worth much considering they are being sold nine a penny."

Was that the right time to throw that little quip? Considering some of them laughed and smiles played on the lips of the rest, then yes, I suppose that was more than enough.

And like that, I just gave the name of the future conflict. Awesome.

I think the Ninepenny War occurred in 260AC and it was now late 258AC, so if everything was still going according to the original timeline, I still had a year at the very least before the Golden Company and their allies made their move for Westeros.

I suppose I could work with that.

As if I needed any sort of incentive to actually want to get my ass beaten by my uncle or goodfather or anyone who was willing to open a whole can of whoop ass on my ass.

Fun.


	9. Chapter 9

**XxX**

If everything from my lessons in RE back in high school was still solidly sound and hadn't been mixed up and corrupted by my not all that relevant knowledge of the Seven Pointed Star, then I do believe that it was the Book of Genesis that God once said, 'Let there be light.'

There was light and He saw that it was good.

I saw that it was good. Couldn't actually believe this shit worked.

Actually, I couldn't believe that the alchemists had been able to make something workable from my own barely remembered memories.

Prince Duncan hummed as he walked around the large jar that sat on a table, light coming from within. I had probably missed the look of surprise or something on his face when the jar lit up. Then again, Prince Duncan was as cool as a cucumber most of the time, so more than likely he would have seen the look of surprise on my face.

"Is this what you have had the alchemists working on?" He asked as he circled the table, occasionally prodding the light producing jar with a finger somewhat apprehensively with each time before getting bolder and assured that it wasn't going to burn his finger off...or something.

Serret, the head pyromancer, finally got a chance to learn his name from occasionally interacting with him as much as I did, didn't even give me a chance to reply, "No, no, no. The prince has set several projects for us, although he has told us to concentrate on-." A sharp look from me was enough to make the man shut up.

Duncan raised an eyebrow. I smiled as sheepishly as I could, "All in the future uncle." No need for me to spill out all the ideas that I had the pyromancers working on. I would actually like to see the look of surprise on their faces when I unveiled them.

"Aha..." The prince said as he slowly nodded his head. His eyes then trailed the wires that connected the top of the jar towards another little thing of mine that I had been able to get together.

A somewhat primitive working electrical generator being worked at by a rather strong looking acolyte who seemed rather out of place among the typically scrawny looking pyromancers. It was basically a lodestone wrapped within a copper coil with more copper wire that ran to the top of the jar.

I have no fucking idea how they were able to do it beside half assed explanations about graphite, a glass jar that was vacuumed or had an inert gas and a drawing based from an image I saw from the internet, but they had somehow been able to turn my half-assed idea into reality. I really should have paid more attention when it came to that YouTube video and or the internet.

And I was beginning to wonder if I really needed the maesters. The pyromancers seemed to be a force all of their own, even if I had needed to outsource for the lodestone and copper wiring. Yes, lodestones and magnets were a thing. With all the iron mining that happened, someone was eventually going to wonder what the hell the strange looking metal that attracted shit was.

Surprisingly, the Iron Islands and the stormlands happened to have the most deposits for lodestones. They just never knew what to do with them.

"So how does this work exactly?" Duncan asked as he turned his attention back to the jar.

Serret looked at me and I rolled my eyes before giving him the go ahead. He jumped into the explanation rather eagerly, and by now having seen that I cared nothing for the technicalities, had been able to dumb it down enough for others not versed in the sciences to understand.

"The electrical generator," Serret began by indicating towards the acolyte and the generator he was busy cranking at, "produces an electric current that travels through the wiring and into the graphite filament that heats up then produces light. Quite amazing I have to say." He looked at me with wide eyes, "Pardon me saying so my prince, but your ideas are nothing more than revolutionary."

I scratched underneath my eye and tried not to blush from the praise. Got to take whatever you got, "Eh, it's nothing to praise me about." He could start praising me when I figured out how to exactly work electricity to make radio then they could praise me.

Unfortunately, all I could recall from that part of the poster was that all I had to do to invent radio was run a strong enough current along a wire back and forth...it did nothing to tell me about how to build a fucking receiving antenna. But I've seen my fair share of antennas, so it couldn't be that hard to actually, you know, build one...right?

I try not to think about it.

Still though, the light bulb was a good step in the right direction. And the generator as well. Hell, who knows, maybe some couple of years later, the streets of King's Landing might be illuminated by light nights?

Just needed to figure out a way to produce a large amount of electricity for the entire city. A hydropower plant didn't seem all that far fetched. The Blackwater Rush was basically just within spitting distance of the city and it was pretty fast flowing, but that was probably something for later.

Still though, it always brought a nice smirk to my face as I thought myself a one man bringing technology for the better of the masses to the world. And if shit was actually going the way it was going, soon death and destruction.

...Well, at least when I feel guilty enough about the second part, I can always pony up the necessary cash to come up with my own version of the Nobel Peace Prize.

"At the rate you are going, people are going to start whispering that you are touched by the Seven. The Smith primarily." Prince Duncan remarked as we rode back to the Red Keep after leaving the Alchemists' Guildhall.

"Is that so bad?" I asked. Really, I was genuinely curious. The amount of influence the Faith had on the masses was not to be underestimated. Not even one bit. If I could influence them to making me something like a more reasonable and sane second coming of Baelor the Blessed, I'd be more than willing to be more a dick than I already was.

"There's some good and there's some bad involved like all things." My uncle admitted, "But you are certainly making a good going off it. That printing press of yours..."

I really couldn't stop the grin that came on my face. That basic device that had driven the Renaissance had immediately got the Faith on my side. After all, that ingenious little thing as far as they were concerned would finally allow them to print out thousands of pages of the Seven Pointed Star in a day when they mastered the technique and when the means of production where there and allow them to publish more of the holy book in a year than they could previous through the method of writing everything by hand.

It was going to take some time, but it was going to eventually happen, but the hundreds of pages that happened now where far better than the couple, several, dozen or whatever pages a day that had been produced by the Faith.

It also didn't hurt that me championing hemp paper instead of the more prestigious parchment paper reduced their costs even more than they would have set to reduce with the printing press itself. Yes, that's right, hemp paper was a thing.

And guess who had come up with the process of creating the cheap paper? None other than your average day Imperial China expy, the Golden Empire of Yi Ti. So this world's version of Arabic numerals had come from Yi Ti, along with paper.

I was starting to think that gunpowder was probably a thing there as well.

"We've always had something of an uneasy relationship with the Faith, uncle. Something that smoothens some roughed feathers is surely a good thing, right?"

The Faith itself had a very strange dynamic. From what I could understand and learn, the Faith that was centred in King's Landing had influence in the north of Westeros, crownlands, the Vale of Arryn and the riverlands etc, but when it came to the south, it was the Starry Sept in Oldtown that dominated.

So...that certainly made for some interesting internal politics that had never been touched upon in the books. Especially when it came to the more pious members of the Faith that turned towards the Starry Sept for guidance instead of the decadent and corrupt Great Sept of Baelor.

Well, that was the word on the street anyway.

"I suppose, but it's best you manage yourself carefully when dealing with these things. Thankfully, it seems you have been slowly learning the finger intricacies of governing and politicking underneath my tutelage." He looked at me with an amused glint in his eyes, "That little debacle of yours with Ser Gwayne sometime back was rather amusing to watch. At how much of a failure it was."

I grumbled underneath my breath as I was forced to remember that little humiliation from some months ago. Ser Gwayne had actually never gone and did my little intelligence gathering task that I had set him, the far more politically astute Ser Duncan the Tall had seen what a folly that was and simply told him to lie low for a bit whilst he talked to his superiors.

Apparently, it seemed that some people in the government did not like being undermined by an upstart fourteen year old prince that had spent most of his timing drinking, whoring and chasing skirts.

King Aegon had given me the telling off of my life. Prince Duncan and Ser Joffrey Massey had been in attendance, standing at the side. Duncan trying his best to not look amused but not doing such a good job hiding it and Ser Joffrey expressionless apart from a glint in his eye.

Oh yeah, fun fact, Ser Joffrey Massey, master of whisperers had worked underneath Bloodraven. As in he had been one of his spies before he found himself elevated to the seat of head spymaster after Bloodraven became the Hand of the King.

In other words, the man was ancient. He was like seventy something, but he certainly didn't look like it. When it came to how old he was, he was like Chuck Norris. The man looks like in his forties or fifties or something, but take a look at his wiki and you walloped in the face with his age of seventy-six.

The telling off had involved generally the same subject of how stupid I was and how stupid my little plan had been and for so how stupid it was, it wouldn't work. It had then ended that since I had found myself suddenly becoming more interested in the running of the realm, I had been apprenticed to Prince Duncan as something more than his squire but as also his assistant in his duties as Chancellor of King's Landing.

In other words, I was a glorified assistant.

Thankfully, working closely with my uncle had allowed me to sound-board some ideas of mine to him and see how they would fair. One of them was tax reform. In other words, bringing tax collection in house instead of outsourcing it.

I was still trying to convince him to switch to this other revolutionary idea of tax collection, but I wasn't having much luck. After all, I was championing something that had never been done before and would lower taxes in his perspective and as much as he was willing to amuse me, this was something he didn't seem keen on budging on.

"Is it true that the Band of Nine have captured the Disputed Lands and Tyrosh?" I asked as the Red Keep came closer in sight as we rode up Aegon's Hill.

Prince Duncan turned his head slightly to glance at me atop his destrier, "Why ask me?"

"Because you obviously know more than me." I said with a roll of the eyes, "You have a seat within the small council."

"Not a seat. Merely an adviser." He corrected.

"Still a seat." I returned, "More than me." You would think much more care would have been taken to try and teach me or Aerys how to run a kingdom from a far younger age than fourteen going on fifteen.

"Your time will come. Believe me, small council meetings are something you would be better without." Duncan said with a laugh before pulling on a cool mask on his face that showed no emotion, not even in his eyes, "But yes, it's true. The nine have captured the Disputed Lands and Tyrosh."

I grimaced, "Fuck." I had heard the rumours and the gossip, but to hear it from someone who wasn't spreading round the talk of the court and was actively involved in the issue? Fuck, "That's not good."

I tried my best to remember what I could about the Ninepenny War...which was not much. Not going to lie, my favourite part of the books had been about the Lannisters. Those had been my favourite chapters because they were amusing as all hell, and even then, I skimmed some when I didn't think they were interesting.

For all I knew, Jaime, Tyrion or Cersei might have commented about the War and I would have skimmed it because dialogue or narration from before had turned me off.

I was really regretting that reading policy right now.

Even then, when I scoured the wiki, it was rather difficult trying to think of something related to the war, considering some of the depth of the articles and the lack of depth in others. I think that particular page had a lack of depth? Probably. I wasn't sure.

All I knew about the war was that it started in 260AC, not long after Jaehaerys took the throne after that whole Summerhall debacle.

Thankfully, it didn't seem as if things were going to end up with the whole Summerhall debacle and the death of a multitude of Targaryens. I think I was making progress with Aegon, but we shall have to see. The family was soon to be heading to Summerhall in a few weeks time and I intended to make sure that Egg didn't do anything stupid, like you know, set fire to the fucking palace.

"No. I suppose not." Duncan said with a sigh, "War shall soon be upon us. Thankfully, we have armourers and weapon smiths and fletchers at work to produce the necessary armaments for whatever hosts that shall be called upon."

All good, still though, I didn't like our chances despite knowing that we won, "I'm going to be looking forward to see how our levies go against sellswords that know nothing but how to fight and kill." I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but I'm sure some got out.

Duncan nodded, "Aye, our levies might seem outmatched, but we have more than levies on our side. We have our own knights and whatever sellswords that we can hire to our own cause. I'm sure we would be able to offer more than whatever the nine are offering for their services."

That seemed like a fun idea, but there was something about it that I had to point out, "I think the Nine would be well aware of that themselves. I'm sure at least some of them are sellswords or something. They would know the nature of their own people."

So it would make sense for them to only have people that they could trust, wouldn't it? What's the point of going on a campaign with people of questionable loyalty? You would have to worry that one way or another, they could eventually change their flags for your enemies if offered a large enough sum of gold.

"That is a risk that we will have to take." Duncan replied, which didn't at all quash whatever worries that I had. As we got nearer the gates of the Red Keep, he spoke up again, "At least look at it this way, we would outnumber whatever their numbers and can at the very least, drown them in bodies."

Of course. Why not?

Wasn't it Stalin who said quantity was a quality all on it's own?


	10. Chapter 10

XxX

It was well known within the fandom that GRRM in all his cynical greatness didn't have much of a sense of scale, like most fiction writers. Which was funny, because at the end of the day, he seemed like a man after my own heart, since I didn't have much of a sense of scale too!

But seriously, these oddities would have been forgiven by the fan base, such as myself who were more interested in some parts of the story for my own amusement, but it wasn't until I joined SpaceBattles that I was horrifically forced to open my eyes to the inconsistency of GRRM's world as much as I didn't want to.

For example, SB taught me that the castles of Westeros were essentially mega-structures, something that should be apparently, inconceivable for a medieval tech-based society. But as I had learned soon enough in my time here was that, when it came to the stuff the Westerosi knew, they knew.

Which I supposed, made as much sense as to why Summerhall was fucking bigger and nicer looking than the Palace of Versailles.

Not that I was complaining. The palace was damn well pretty to look at. Made from white washed stone and marble with blue tiles. Around the tower rose seven towers that each represented the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, judging by the flags that swayed easily in the breeze hung on each tower.

Around the palace grounds were various small keeps and manors made from the same stone as the main palace for the private use of guests and littered across the palace grounds, reflecting the southern sun was a couple of pools and lakes for the use of the residents.

Of course these had nothing on the larger pool in the back of the palace. A lake big enough to have a miniature dock to house boats and barges for the guests pleasure.

Lining the main path that led to the courtyard of the palace was a gravelled path made of stones of varying shades of grey and lining on opposite side of the path were marble statues of dragons. Daeron had clearly gone all out on this place.

The statues were a nice touch, that I would admit too.

My wife scrunched up her nose slightly as she rode beside me, "A bit ostentatious, is it not?"

Branda had taken to her riding leathers instead of riding in a carriage like most of the other ladies. 'Most' as in every other lady of the court other than Branda and Betha. No-one told them to do shit that they didn't want to do.

All the reason that Betha needed was because she was queen and she could do whatever she damned well pleased. Branda because she found the carriage nothing more than a wooden oven and that she needed the fresh air.

I looked around at the palace grounds as we neared the large manor. I shrugged, "Probably. I think Daeron was going for power projection."

Dorne had just joined the table back then and I suppose Summerhall, in it's prime location of the Dornish Marches (along with it's sizeable garrison) was meant to serve as some sort of show of force to the Dornish that there was no going back now.

Why Daeron thought that would have deterred the Dornish considering the bullshit that they had pulled off, was beyond me.

Branda held back a snort, "As if the Dornish would have cared for whatever castle Daeron built this side of the Red Mountains. Nothing more than a vanity project if you ask me."

There was a tilt to her voice whenever she said the word 'Dornish'. It was quiet enough, but noticeable enough if one had come to be with her for a noticeable amount of time, "Don't like the Dornish much?" I asked.

"They killed a king underneath a banner of truce." Branda replied without a moments pause, "If that action shows their lack of honour, then I don't know what does." Oh yeah...that happened. She sneered some, "And to make it worse, Daeron let them go with nary a reprimand for their action. One, I suppose could understand why Daemon rebelled with all the support that he had."

I suppose that was true. Then I was reminded that in this day and age, freedom of speech was yet not a thing. Benjen reared his horse slightly to fall into pace with our own, "Cousin, please do watch your mouth. I do hope you know better than supporting a rebel and well known traitor." He near hissed, "Especially in these times."

Branda glared at her cousin, eyes narrowed and all, "I do know better Benji! I was merely offering my opinion, as unpopular as it maybe. It was not Daemon's fault that his cousin was a weakling who bowed down to the Martells instead of fighting."

"Peace is always the better alternative to war." I interjected, not really liking to find myself in between the two feuding family members...that were now my own, "Then again, I think someone once said in peace, prepare for war."

Whatever words Benjen had for my lovely lady wife seemed to have left his tongue as he blinked for a moment, "Huh," He let out, rubbing at his jaw were a small beard was slowly making it's presence known, "That's not half bad. Who said that?"

A Roman I think? Had seen the saying on the loading screen on one of the Total War games, which one, I had no idea. Still though, I don't think Romans existed in this day and age, so I shrugged my shoulders, "Don't know, just read it in a book somewhere."

Benjen snapped his fingers, "And I happen to know someone who loves their books." He kicked at his horse and trotted forward, forgetting all about me and his little spat with Branda.

I looked at Benjen as he made his way towards his twin before turning my attention to Branda, "So yeah, I don't think talking about the Blackfyres in any sort of positive light is a good thing." I said as sagely as possible, "Just saying. I don't think people will take it too kindly."

Branda turned away from me with a whip of her hair, "I wasn't supporting them, dear husband. I was merely stating my opinion on Daemon and reasoning as to why he was so widely supported."

"I suppose, but I would think this subject would be best left to the maesters. It's primarily their job anyway to record and argue about the why's and how's of history." Even if that history is biased in favour of whatever the ruling power.

I was positive that had the Blackfyres became the new royal dynasty, the deposed Targaryens would have found themselves vilified to hell and back, then back again.

When we reached the courtyard, the household of the palace was out to greet us and back up, was that Luthor Tyrell? Yes, that was actually Luthor Tyrell. Powerful looking and didn't seem all that dull. Beside him, I could see two people that shared a similar look and I figured that they were his brothers.

I don't think that I met them at the wedding.

If Luthor was here, did that mean Olenna was here? She hadn't been at my second wedding. I think the reason was because she wanted to take care of her babe, the little Lord Oaf of Highgarden. Well, that was rather mean, he still wasn't an oaf just yet.

Now that I thought about it, I could recognise several rather important looking people that had come to greet us. My eyes darting among the gathered people, I saw someone that vaguely looked Lannister-ish and wondered if that was Tytos Lannister himself. Unlikely, but the man gave a barely noticeable incline of the head in the direction of Tywin.

I could definitely recognise the red hair of both the Tully brothers, both Hoster and Brynden Tully. The blues and white of the Arryns was recognisable as I saw Jon Arryn among the crowd as well. There was some faces that I didn't recognise among the gathering, but I was pretty sure that this here wasn't just your standard court right here, right now.

"Uncle!" Branda breathed from beside me.

I looked at her and followed her line of sight and saw Artos Stark standing among the greeting party. Now all we needed were the Martells and we would have representatives of all the Seven Kingdoms, well apart from the Iron Islands.

But who the fuck cared about those assholes anyway?

King Aegon the Unlikely unseated himself from his horse and from the crowd a man stepped forward, his black hair peppered with grey hairs, the signs of age. He was dressed in fine clothing of a dark brown and black.

When he knelt, so did everyone else that had gathered, "Your Grace, Summerhall is yours." The man who I figured was either the castellan or steward of the castle announced.

Aegon gave a strong noticeable nod, "Thank you Ser Matthis." He then turned his attention to all the knelt lords, beside him, his lady wife, Queen Betha, "Please rise my lords and ladies. We have much to speak about on affairs of realm that requires your presence."

Yeah...definitely some serious stuff was about to go down. 

xXx

The first night in Summerhall was nothing more than a massive party...excuse me, but using the local lingo, it was nothing more than a massive feast. I wasn't all that surprised in truth. It was very rare for so many lords from all over Westeros to gather in one place.

Well, there was my wedding, but that was more than half a year ago, and even then, there weren't as many big names that had appeared compared to these particular activity.

During the evening and well into the night, I had come to learn many of the names of the lords and ladies that had gathered in Summerhall, from Ser Matthis Penrose, the palace castellan/steward who also happened to be a distant relation of mine going all the way back to Princess Elaena Targaryen.

Funnily, somewhere in the festivities, all the really, really important people had disappeared. Aegon Targaryen, Duncan Targaryen, Ormund Baratheon, Ser Duncan the Tall, Artos Stark, Luthor and Gormon Tyrell, Hoster Tully, Jon Arryn, Ser Jason Lannister (who happened to be Tywin's uncle), and somewhat surprisingly Quellon Greyjoy.

I didn't even know that there was a Greyjoy here. Why would a Greyjoy bother himself with the workings of the mainland? From what I could understand about that particular group of people was that it was mostly filled with idiots that lived on past glories.

That and everyone else on the forum boards seemed to agree that they were ass backwards and poor Viking expies, much like how the Dothraki were poor Mongol expies.

Sure, there was still some important people left in the feast, but those were the really big names since they all came from the main politically powerful families of the Kingdoms. The Martells were definitely missing out, wherever they were.

"Where's Steffon?" I asked as I sipped some wine from a glass goblet. I think this was Dornish red. I was no connoisseur and it would have tasted all the same to me.

I hated wine. It tasted like piss, but it was either this or water of questionable drinking nature.

From beside me, Tywin sipped at his own wine with the enthusiasm of a corpse as green eyes flecked with gold surveyed the partying that was happening all around us, "Who knows? I was not aware that I was his minder. Steffon is old enough to take care of himself."

I glanced in the direction of Tywin and not for the first time, I realised he had been rather bitchy for most of the night. Actually, this had all started the moment after he had talked with his uncle.

I grimaced as I realised the reason for the sour mood was probably because he was hearing from the horses mouth of how bad things were back in the westerlands. Still though, most of the time, he was courteous as fuck, even when he was annoyed with me, Steffon or any one else.

Even with all his flaws, Tywin wholly respected and believed in the feudal hierarchy of power, and as a prince, I was above him and he showed me due respect, even when I did something stupid.

I decided to blame it on the wine.

"Is it that bad?" I asked as I watched one particular lord or lordling, make an arse of himself by trying to make a go for a serving wench only to clatter to the floor to the bellowing laughter of his posse, "Home, that is." I clarified.

His jaw tightened for a moment before giving a forced, tight nod of the head, "Our vassals grow bolder with each day." He said so quietly that I could barely hear him over the music, shouting and singing, "The Reynes and Tarbecks continue to overstep themselves and my father does nothing!" He hissed so fiercely that I think he scared away an approaching serving wench by how fast she turned on her heels and started heading the way back she had come from.

"Calm yourself Tywin, don't give yourself an aneurism." It was definitely the wine at work. Of that I was sure. Tywin was barely this open most of the time.

All of the time.

"I'm sure everything will work out in the end." I continued, trying my best to placate and calm the probably psychotic young man sitting beside me.

Psychotic as how the forums once again, had brought me to question his capabilities as a sane, reasonable functioning being. Frankly, as long as I didn't touch the family/pride button, I'm sure everything was going to eventually work itself out.

This time, Tywin didn't take the sips he had been taking from his goblet, but one big swallow. I raised an eyebrow and he spoke up, "Things will more than work out in the end, Aerys. That, I am sure of."

I smiled as I realised what Tywin meant by him saying that things would more than workout.

The Reynes of Castamere.

Oh bloody hell.

I needed air.

I excused myself from that mess of a man to take a walk around the palace grounds. Of course, my ever persistent white shadow of Ser Gwayne was always shadowing me within arms reach. Most of the time, I would make small talk with the young knight, but I wasn't really feeling it tonight.

Why?

Because I had brought down my own mood with me realising that Tywin's way of working things out with the Reynes was essentially near downright massacring the entire family along with their cousins in the Tarbecks.

Could I stop that from happening? Oh, I was well aware that Ellyn and her brothers were utter dicks and probably deserved what was coming to them, but the same cannot be said for the rest of the Castameres and Tarbecks that had nothing to do with the schemes of those three.

For crying out loud, Armory Lorch dropped a child into a well. Something like that, all the little horrible things some of the characters do in the series always find a way to stick inside my head and I can't forget them.

Oh, I knew that Westeros was a horrible place. That the people here were shitty and by people, the nobles, since I doubt most of them actually recognised the smallfolk as real people. It took some effort from me to actually start recognising the servants as actual people instead of only needing to realise they are there when I need something from them.

That was a horrible habit that needed to die.

Armory Lorch...well, I suppose I could have the man killed. I was a prince and it probably wouldn't raise any sort of questions and the man was a coward anyway. How he was knighted was beyond me.

Was Gregor Clegane still a thing yet? Because that thing had to die. That dog just needed to be put out it's misery. Even if the theory that his gigantism caused his psychosis, the guy still needed to be put down like the dog that he was.

No way was I going to have him running around my kingdoms. No way Jose. Ain't happening.

Ramsey Bolton? That had to go. No questions about it.

Roose Bolton? Well, he had to go, but until Domeric was born I guess. From what I could recall, Domeric was half decent before Ramsey got his hands on him.

By now, making a list of people that needed to die didn't suddenly make me stop and question myself anymore. I had been in Westeros for more than a year, nearly going on two years and I had managed to accustomise myself to some of the changes around me and to the changes that were happening to me.

It would have been scary at first, plotting peoples death, but then again, I suppose I knew that those people were utter horrible pieces of shit that definitely needed to die for the greater good, so there was that.

For the Greater Good.

Now all I needed was some organ that secret pheromones and I was half way to becoming a Tau Ethereal.

On my way back towards the palace after my little walk, I ran into one of the important people that had disappeared from the festivities some time ago. Gormon Tyrell at noticing me approach flashed a wide smile, "Ah, Prince Aerys, I had been meaning to speak with you."

I raised an eyebrow in confusion. Speak to me, what for? I don't really think I did anything to have the attentions of a Tyrell. Couldn't help but wonder what politicking was this.

I smiled at the older man, "My lord, how can I be of service?" Light from the palace and one of the many torches sat about the palace caught onto something around Gormon's neck that was hidden by his robe.

"Oh nothing of much," The man said as he made a motion with his hand and I could hear the clinks and rattling of chains? What was that all about? "Just if you don't mind an old man being inquisitive about a few things."

"My lord, I doubt many would call you old." Gormon was probably in his late twenties considering that Luthor was in his early thirties.

Gormon chuckled as we made our way inside the palace halls, walking past Targaryen guardsmen on duty, "You flatter me too much." Again, the sound of chains or something rattling. What was that? "I have to say my prince, is it true that you patron the alchemists?"

"Yes, what of it?" Not going to lie, I didn't see what was the point of denying it. I'm sure everyone in King's Landing was well aware I occasionally made trips to the guildhall or was in correspondent with the guild.

Gormon cocked an eyebrow, "You would willingly associate yourself with those charlatans?"

Charlatans? I smirked somewhat, "I wouldn't exactly call them charlatans though. Why the interest about my relationship with the alchemists? I needed a group of highly learned men and they were on hand."

Still though, I was rather curious as to why me hanging around the alchemist was of interest to this guy.

"Learned?" Gormon snotted derisively, "I would not call them learned. Just merely men dabbling in nothing more than things they know nothing about. If you truly needed learned men, why not contact the Citadel?"

The Citadel? I blinked for a moment as I abruptly stopped, forcing Gormon to stop himself, "Hold up..."

He cocked an eyebrow in curiosity, "My prince?"

I looked at him inquisitively, "By any chance, are you a maester?" If so the rattling sure made a lot of sense now.

Gormon smiled as he showed me the maester's chain that had been hidden by his grey robes. Oh man did I feel dumb for not noticing that, although in my defence, it had been dark with minimal lighting, "Archmaester of the Citadel, my prince."

Archmaester at such a young age? Why was I not surprised. The Citadel depended on patronage from the noble Houses despite their claims of being independent and neutral and all about the pursuit of knowledge.

I tried not look amused, "Are the Citadel jealous of my relationship with the alchemists?"

"Of course not!" Gormon near snotted, "We are merely worried that the alchemists may very well try to influence you and not for the better."

I think I could feel the smirk on Ser Gwayne face at that comment. The alchemists influencing me? Nah, no chance of that happening. They depended on me.

I was the most business they ever had in years.

"You shouldn't worry about such things, my lo-archmaester." I corrected myself at the end, "Like I said, the relationship between me and the alchemists is one of mutual enrichment. They do things for me, in return, I give them gold...the Citadel isn't hurting for gold is it? I figured the wealth of the Hightowers was more than enough to subside you over."

Gormon sputtered, "No, no my prince. The Citadel is functioning as healthily as ever. Why if your only use of the alchemists was for research, why did you not approach the Citadel? We have far more facilities and qualified personnel than them."

That was true, but still, there was the whole anti-magic bullshit of the Citadel. Anti-magic that could very well mean anti-Targaryen, cause let's face it, the Targaryens were pretty special magically. That, I was sure off.

Never heard of a Westerosi that didn't have Targaryen blood in them ever taming a dragon before, so yeah, there was that.

I thought long and hard about my answer. Long and hard as in just a couple of seconds, "Do you want to know why I went to them instead of the Citadel for my own uses?"

Gormon nodded his head like a child, "Yes."

I smiled, "They were closer."

And with that, leaving the probably gobsmacked maester in my wake, I made my way back to the feast hall.

...In hindsight, I figure that was going to bite me in the ass sometime later, but I really couldn't careless at that particular moment.


	11. Chapter 11

xXx

Being a student in my past life, I had been able to find myself a participant numerous times when it came to helping a mate of mine, or sometimes, some random person I met on a night out when it came to them chundering everywhere I.e. I was quite well versed in the art of holding hair back whilst someone puked onto the ground, toilet or whatever decoration that was available.

I never worried much during that point in time. The emotions that mostly went through my head during such a time was mostly the selfish ones along the lines that if any of that chunder went anywhere near my finely dressed self, we were going to have problems. Problems that more or less resulted in me abandoning whoever and continuing having fun with the rest of the lads.

I know, what a horrible thing to do, but sometimes, when I'm really drunk, my dickish nature seems to rear more of it's ugly head more than I sometimes care to contemplate in fear of the guilt I would feel later on when I reviewed the memories of that particular moment.

Like I said, I'm a coward. I prefer not facing the consequences of my actions unless they make me feel really good about myself or benefit me in some form or way.

Therefore, it wasn't much of a surprise to me when I woke up one morning and found myself holding my wife's hair back as she cleared her stomach content into a nearby pot.

Thing is, I was worried.

She hadn't been drinking last night. Nor the previous nights the last three times that she had started this nearly morning ritual.

I had seen enough tv to know that as a young man, I should start freaking out. Basically, she was pretty much showing signs of the primarily feared pregnancy state of any sane, rational young man.

And I was freaking out.

Well, freaking out wasn't the right term for it.

I was this close to losing it and running for the hills. I was way too young to be a father, but really, what had I been expecting with all the unprotected sex that had been happening? I felt like slapping myself in the face. I had sort of figured that she was regularly seeing Maester Gyldayn for what was it again, moon tea?

Alright, alright, alright. I should probably calm down, for all I knew, this could probably be nothing more than a false alarm and I was probably thinking too much into it.

Branda seemed to stop her retching for more than a few moment before she slowly lifted her head. She had bed hair and that meant it was all frazzled and messy, basically, her near standard state of her, "I just know this is your fault."

Well, in truth, the fault would be equally shared between us if she was truly pregnant, it took two to tango after all. This wouldn't have happened without her being a willing partner in our occasional dances, "Eh, probably." Didn't mean I was going to voice my opinion to the contrary. I knew better, "Does this happen often?" Please say no.

She called for a servant to come throw away the pot full of sick, "A few times these past couple of months."

I really don't know why I was an eyeing the window. Our chambers were on the top fucking floor for crying out loud. That route would have resulted in me dying, something I wasn't particularly interested in. I wasn't Spiderman.

"Oh..." I said, licking my strangely dry lips. This was actually happening? I was way too young to be a father. I was going to be a mess of a father. I don't even know how to be a father. There's no books on this shit. Especially in this place. I tried to look for any sign that this was nothing more than a false alarm, "By any chance, have you had your moon's blood yet?"

Branda looked at me curiously as the servant appeared not long after she had been called. With her attention split between me and the servant, she directed with her hands towards the pot and the servant carried it out of the room.

"What does that have anything to do with this?" She asked. She then blinked. Frowned. Then her eyes widened slightly in surprise, "You think I'm with...child?" She asked, hands going subconsciously to her middle. I'm guessing subconsciously. I don't know.

I slowly inclined my head as I nodded, "Maybe. Might be a false alarm. I think you should see a maester about this." I wasn't exactly an expert.

I don't think Branda was listening to me as she continued to cradle her non-existent baby bump, "Oh this is such a relief."

"...What?"

Her face broke out into a large wide smile. I think she ignored my flat reaction to her previous statement. My wife ignored me on a lot of things, "Truly, before this, I was beginning to think I was barren." Her eyes drifted towards me, "Or you impotent. Neither really a good thing for a prince and princess."

I blinked, "...What?"

She began to pace about, "You have no idea how long this kept me up at night. I was beginning to fear that I might have to ask for advice from your mother or the queen herself if there was a way for me to get with a child. You truly have no idea how embarrassing and humiliating that would have been."

I opened my mouth to say something, but only to quickly close it. Perhaps I was being entirely to selfish here? I think I was being a little bit selfish. I mean, I wasn't thinking about this from her point of view.

Basically, when it came to the female sex in Westeros, barring Dorne, actually, I think it was still probably a thing in Dorne, birthing a heir of some sort was imperative. It became even more imperative in the rest of Westeros that wasn't Dorne for the heir to be male.

Because you know, what sort of man allows themselves to be led around nilly-willy by a woman? Not the manly men of Westeros that was for sure.

Considering the usual average rate of our...pleasurable activities, I suppose she would have been a bit worried about her lack of getting with child with the way we went at things.

So instead of freaking out about this, I should be happy for her/us. She was essentially carrying out what she considered was her duty as a princess married to the second in line to the throne. And considering that was even more imperative now that war was on the horizon and that I will be marching out with Prince Duncan and whatever host to the Step Stones sometime next year, there would have been probably unbelievable amount of pressure on her, in case, gods forbid, something happened to me.

I could understand, I really could. Didn't stop me from freaking out about this whole potential parenting thing.

How the fuck was I supposed to deal with that?

Thankfully, it seemed Branda was completely oblivious to my internal panicking, "I wonder if it's going to be a boy or a girl." She had stopped her pacing and looked utterly radiant with the smile on her face. Quite different from the plastic smile on my own. Thankfully she didn't notice, "But you are right. I should check with the maester face!"

It was all a swirl afterwards and when it actually started making sense, I found myself fishing on the larger lake behind the palace.

I hate fishing. I find it boring.

But living in a world without the internet or the most basic necessities of a young adult of the 21st century, you eventually learn to take what you can get when it comes to social activities. I would have played football, introduced that, but unfortunately, the football that I had tried to teach the people around here seemed to how somewhat mutate itself into some strange mixture of rugby and Gaelic football.

Not that I minded either sport, but it was definitely not a sport that you played with a royal considering the sheer absurd, probably lethal, bone breaking tackles that went around.

I needed to sort that out. People were going to get paralysed by the way things were going.

I tried my best not to think about myself as a potential father. Why? Because I was going to be a walking disaster no matter how I looked at it.

"Aerys? I didn't take you for a fisher."

I turned around and saw Prince Duncan walking down a path that happened to come near where I happened to have been fishing. He wasn't alone either, and apart from a Kingsguard knight, I think it was Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull himself, considering that he was probably the second tallest knight in the Kingsguard behind his Lord Commander. He also had Jenny of Oldstones and in his hands, he held a small bundle.

Oh yeah, some time ago, Prince Duncan had become the father of a young babe by the name of Daeron Targaryen, named after his brother Prince Daeron who had died putting down a rebellion against a trio that went by the Rat, the Hawk and the Pig. I didn't even want to know.

So yeah, that had happened.

Duncan and his family approached me as I replied, "I recently got into it. It's rather relaxing at times." Lies, utter lies. Boring as all hell, but I needed to do something. I got up onto my feet and bowed at Jenny of Oldstones, "My lady."

The former peasant girl turned lady curtsied in return, "Prince Aerys, a pleasure to see you on this fine morning."

I could never understand Aerys' scorn or disregard for her. Jenny was a lovely lady and full of life and somewhat insightful when it came to matters that involved the common people, since she was/had(?) been one of those common people herself.

Thankfully, for the good of herself and Prince Duncan and the other nobility of the court, her time at court had seen her elocution improve and one wouldn't even take her for a smallfolk with the way she talked now. Aerys had made fun of her way of speaking once.

Duncan had taught him why he shouldn't do so in his presence or ever.

I looked at the bundle within Duncan's arms, "So how is my little cousin today? Not to much of a problem is he?"

Duncan's eyes warmed as he looked down at his son, "Better than most from what I can learn. He's a rather quiet little lordling."

"Oh that he is! His wet nurses has nothing bad to say about him at all. She always says that she has never had such an obedient babe before in her arms." Jenny elaborated happily, holding a small finger above her son's face. A finger that Daeron made a go for, releasing a fit of giggles when the finger just escaped his grasp.

I nodded as I tried my best not to point out that the wet nurse was probably saying the things she probably wanted to hear. That, or it was one of those things were people seemed to want to praise babies, no matter how much of a pain in the arse they are.

I was of the school of thought that found babies cute, but well within reason. When they start waking you up in the middle of the night or when you are trying to revise for that important end of term test over the holidays, then they are a right royal pain.

"I'm sure he is." I kept the sarcasm out of my voice. I looked at my uncle and realised that this man could very well help me with my current predicament, "Uncle, do you mind if we have some words in private?"

Duncan raised an eyebrow but nodded his head. He passed Daeron over to Jenny and left her and the babe in the ever vigilant care of Ser Gerold. We walked some way down the lake before he asked the all important question, "What do you want to know of me?"

"I'm going to be a father. I think." That revelation didn't surprise Duncan as much as I wanted it to. All he did was raise an eyebrow, so I ploughed on, "And I am this close to having a midlife crisis about it. I'm way too young to be a father."

The eyebrow dropped and Duncan looked almost amused at something or about something, "You are aware others have become fathers at a younger age than you?"

I opened my mouth to retort then I was hit with the truth of my setting and realised that was more than likely true. Still didn't at all help me try to come to terms with the fucking bombshell that I was to be a father, "Not helping uncle. But really, what do I do? I mean, I am panicking here. I don't know what being a father entails." All I could think about was how so unready I was for this and how I really, really didn't want for this to happen even though a part of me realised that it was going to happen sometime in the future.

"You come upon it naturally." Duncan said with a nonchalant but subtle raising and lowering of his shoulders, "I panicked as well when I first held Daeron and wondered what I was going to do as a father or how I was going to turn out as a father. It turns out I didn't need to worry. I can't describe it any other way other than that it just comes to you."

Wow...that was so helpful. Not.

That was like one of the most clichéd shit ever said when it came to parenting. Was it still possible for me to run off somewhere and get a ship to the Summer Islands or something? Yes, I was actually thinking of doing that.

People do strange things when they are panicked.

I tried to calm the raging headache that was at the back of my mind and decided to change the subject, "It seems the Martells have finally arrived. Saw some of their guardsmen wandering about."

"A sandstorm delayed them, but they are here now and the councils can begin properly."

"Shouldn't I at least sit in? I might as well learn the finer intricacies of strategy and the workings of a war council." Oooh, strategy and tactics. Should make a note to introduce wargames. That shit helped the Prussians make Europe their bitch for a while.

Table top games were already a thing with Cyvasse, can't be that difficult to modify that to make it somewhat similar to the Kriegsspiel of the Prussians. If only I could remember more than the bare basics or had been more interested in table top games I could have had something here.

"Perhaps in the future. Your current learnings on warfare with Maester Gyldayn is more than sufficient for the nonce."

Why people still insisted on handling me with the kiddy gloves was beyond me. You would think by now, I would have garnered some respect, what, with the shit I had been doing.

"Well, at the very least, can you tell me the basics?"

Duncan raised an eyebrow, "Such as?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. The number of men the Band of Nine can call upon. How many we can call upon. Whether we are going to make them come to us, or we are going to strike at them first with a pre-emptive strike."

"Pre-emptive strike?"

"Yeah," I nodded without really thinking, "Like invade the Stepstones to stop them from having a base of operations or something." I think that was why Jaehaerys invaded the Stepstones in the first place.

Duncan seemed in thought about something, "...I suppose they could do that. The Stepstones do allow the Nine to have a base of operations for an invasion of Westeros. And the islands themselves will protect their invasion fleet from being scattered by storms." He looked at me strangely, "That's rather insightful of you. I didn't think you had it in you. You continue to surprise me, nephew."

By now, I had come to wholly accept that some people in my family hadn't really expected much from Aerys from day one. So I let it slide of my back, and hey, that was in regards to Aerys, not me.

"So no-one thought of the Stepstones as a potential battleground?"

"Don't be silly. Lord Ormund is not only a dutiful Hand, he is also a capable strategist and warrior. He recognised the threat the Stepstones represented as soon as these Ninepenny Kings announced themselves. In truth, any half decent lord with a schooling in warfare would recognise the threat the islands possess. We just didn't think they had the capabilities of actually being a credible threat at the time."

I smirked, "Then they went and conquered the Disputed Lands and Tyrosh."

"That they did. The world is full of surprises, I suppose." Duncan replied with a sigh. He rubbed at his jaw, "At first, they only had a small fleet of sellsails and with such a fleet, overrunning the pirates of the Stepstones is simply ridiculous. But with the fleet of Tyrosh? Now that's very possible."

He was listening to me, I decided to press the advantage, "See? I make some good points and as you said, insightful. I really should be in those meetings. If for the experience if nothing else."

Duncan regarded me with a cool stare with his violet eyes before sighing, "Very well, I'll see whether Father has an extra chair in the room."

I fist pumped and grinned. My uncle just merely raised an eyebrow at the gesture, and I suppose he filed that away as one of those strange things his nephew did, "But seriously," I said suddenly, fist pump and happiness gone, "Tell me you at least have more to say about the whole fatherhood thing. I am worrying and panicking here. I am actually thinking off running of to the Summer Islands or something."

Duncan sighed as we turned and began to make our way back to where we left Jenny, Daeron and Ser Gerold.


	12. Chapter 12

**XxX**

Duncan had been able to pull through for me and had been able to talk to Egg and get me a sit around the table.

No actually, that was a terrible lie. I didn't have a seat around the table, I had a seat at the side. I don't know whether my presence was felt needed or wanted in this meeting of the big boys club, but Egg had quietly told me that I was to sit and listen. Only speak when spoken to me. That whole shebang.

No one had spoken to me yet, so I hadn't had the chance to speak, but I did have a chance to look around and see the who's who of Westeros. Lord Luthor Tyrell I had seen and up close, he looked far more handsome than I had taken him for earlier, although there was signs that he was beginning to put on a little bit of weight.

Considering what little I remember of him from canon, that he rode his horse off a cliff, it didn't surprise me all that much that it was his maester brother, Gormon, who had a seat around his table who did most of the talking for House Tyrell. I wasn't saying Luthor was stupid, he certainly knew quite a bit about the lands that he was overlord over, but Gormon was far more knowledgeable than him when it came to the Houses and their capabilities when it came to calling up man for war.

And speaking of the archmaester, after that little conversation during the first night, I had neither seen hide nor hair of the man after that. I couldn't help but wonder how I had come off to the man and what he and the maesters were planning or doing considering my association with the closest thing that was to them, rivals.

Well, I suppose only time could tell.

I...didn't really know what to think about Quellon Greyjoy. For the father that spawned a litter of brats that were idiots and in the case of one them, evil incarnated, he seemed a pretty decent fellow. When he spoke, the other lords, specially Ser Jason seemed to listen and regard him with far greater respect than one would think a westermen or reachmen or any mainlander would give to an ironborn.

Was I missing something here?

Princess Maria of Dorne couldn't really attend this summit of Westeros' lords since she was too busy being a Princess of Dorne and taking care of her children that included Oberyn and Elia Martell that had only been born a more than half a year ago. Didn't stop her from sending her devilishly handsome younger brother Lewyn Martell in her stead.

I didn't really what to expect from a Martell, but I guess I expected him to be somewhat more energetic or hot-blooded. The young Prince of Dorne was certainly a disappointment in that regard. He rarely spoke and seemed more intent on listening rather than speaking or doing anything else.

Ser Jason was golden, handsome and had an air about him. He was dressed in the finest of silks and cotton, dyed red and gold of course. Also, he really couldn't forget about the lion imagery on his clothes. What self-respecting Lannister would be seen without the golden lion of their sigil?

Basically, he seemed to be a more fun version of Tywin. He looked competent, able to handle himself a conversation and then some. Didn't he have a bastard or something?

Artos Stark looked just about as good as I last saw him, long-faced and grim looking. I really couldn't make out what he was thinking with my limited facial reading abilities. I was going to have all kinds of fun when eventually, I come across more stoic people, or people able to act so well that they can hide what exactly they are thinking.

Somewhat surprisingly, I saw another young face in the crowd in the form of Hoster Tully and his shock of bright red hair and blue eyes. I was beginning to notice a trend that apart from Aegon, Duncan, Luthor, Gormon and Ormund, a lot of the people in this council couldn't be any older than twenty or had just turned twenty.

I could say the same about Ormund Baratheon. I was of the mind that he was somewhat distantly related to the Starks considering that he was just as grim faced and nearly as severe looking as Artos.

It was difficult to tell with his hair, but it seemed as if Aegon had less of the famous silver-gold hair of the Targaryens and more grey hairs than anything else. And the crow's feet that had been developing around his eyes recently were now more than noticeable, more than ever.

I would say that he was aging quick, but the fact that he was in his late fifties, I really couldn't say that he was greying early.

And before I forget, truth be told, I hadn't even noticed, but the master of whisperers, Ser Joffrey had arrived from King's Landing some time this week. Either that, or he had been long before and I had only learned of him just now because I was in the same room as him.

The master of whisperers was the one was currently speaking, "Before they took Tyrosh, the Nine could call upon a fleet of only thirty ships, but ever since they took Tyrosh, they can now call upon an additional fleet of two hundred ships. Perhaps even more."

Luthor Tyrell leaned forward on the table, "More?"

Ser Joffrey nodded his head as aged eyes drifted towards the younger noble, "Tyrosh was founded by the Valyrians as a fortress city to control the Stepstones and the trade that comes through it. In turn, this means their shipbuilding capabilities are not something to be taken lightly."

The Lord Reaper of Pyke was quiet for a moment before speaking up, "So how many ships do we expect?"

Ser Joffrey gave a light shrug of his shoulders, "Tyrosh certainly doesn't have the capabilities of the Arsenal of Braavos when it comes to shipbuilding, but I suspect that more and more ships have already been set to sea ever since Alequo Adarys was inserted as the city's Archon. These Nine did make solemn vows to help with each others goals."

"But to truly invade us or ward off the predations of the other Free Cities?" Lewyn Martell asked as he looked around the table, "My lords, it is true that a Blackfyre is among the Nine, but who's to say they will directly go to install him upon the Iron Throne? Lys, Myr, Volantis, Braavos and even Pentos. All these cities would have reason to worry about these warlords and wonder whether they are next on their list for each of their crowns."

Ser Jason slowly nodded his head, "I understand what you are saying. It's just as likely for the Nine to strike out at Westeros as it is just as likely for them to strike at any one city in Essos."

"That," Artos Stark began slowly, "Or the Free Cities band together to bring these Nine low. It would not be the first time, nor the last such a union has happened. It's rare for the interests of the cities to align, but they do occasionally align when something does threaten their trade or autonomy."

Egg nodded his head in a sagely manner at the words that had been said, "You speak wise words, Prince Lewyn, but we cannot leave the defence of the realm to nothing more than mere chance. Even if the Nine gather their strength and strike elsewhere, we should operate underneath the state of mind that they shall strike for Westeros. It's better to be safe rather than sorry." He finished with a slight smile and nod in my direction.

Ha. I had been acknowledged and it was for an idiom that I had said out of hand once in his presence. I still smiled.

Like I said, I take what I can get when it comes to recognition.

Lord Ormund's stormy blue eyes looked in the direction of Ser Joffrey, "How many men can the Nine call upon for an army?"

"In total? I would say a little over a hundred perhaps more if they gather any of the larger Free Companies to their banner."

Gormon smirked somewhat, "A hundred thousand men? The Reach can call that many men."

"Aye," the Hand of the King agreed, "But I doubt many of those hundred thousand men are seasoned killers the likes of those that follow the Nine." A giant hand rubbed at his clean shaved jaw, "If it comes to war, the Nine will certainly have a better advantage in us when it comes to the experience of the men-at-arms underneath them," An eye drifted towards Luthor Tyrell, "As well as in the quality of their officers and leaders."

Ser Jason leaned forward onto the table, "From what I understand, don't the Free Cities leave the fighting to the Free Companies? Rarely do any of them actually take to the field with citizen armies."

Lewyn slowly nodded his head as he agreed with the statement, "And in the Free Cities, trade is considered a more honourable trade than arms. You'll find hardly a soldier or man of arms in the lands across the narrow sea."

"Doesn't mean they don't have them, my lords." Ser Joffrey interjected, "True, skill in trade is valued more than skill of arms in the Free Cities, but they are not so stupid to believe that trade alone would stop an invasion force. Why would they keep a large, highly trained and professional fleet then? Tyrosh does have citizen armies, but they would rather spent the blood of sellswords than their own citizens in their wars. Most serve garrison duty in the Disputed Lands, and even then, some of these men-at-arms fight in the occasional battle against a Free Company or two."

"But how many of those men-at-arms will be deployed for an invasion of the realm?" Artos Stark asked, "As you said, they garrison in the Disputed Lands and the other Free Cities would pounce at any perceived weakness, especially Lys and Myr. They have fought over the Disputed Lands for centuries. I doubt they would just stop now."

Gormon hummed, "Would it be too much to suspect we will only see an invasion fleet of half their total number or thereabouts that they can call upon?"

Duncan shook his head, "It's not that much of a jump. They still have to leave the garrisons for their conquered territories. Enough to protect Tyrosh and whatever number they need to patrol the Disputed Lands from any form of probing attacks or invaders."

The conversations and discussions followed among similar themes of troop numbers that the Nine can call upon for a potential invasion of Westeros. Some of the lords didn't agree with Gormon's estimation and estimated larger numbers themselves. Others thought lower as they argued that the Nine might as well also split their forces into three. One to try and invade Westeros and the other two to make attacks in the direction of Lys and Myr with the total number of their forces being split between the three of those armies.

Eventually, Aegon was able to regain control of the council and an estimate was made from the information that Ser Joffrey was able to provide for them. We expected an invasion force from as little as thirty thousand to as large as sixty thousand, even still, that was nowhere near enough. Aegon ordered the aged master of whisperers Ser Joffrey to keep his ear on the ground for a more definite number of troops they can be expected to see.

Afterwards came the bargaining and talking about how many men each of the kingdoms could muster and with what supplies. The north being the furthest region from the potential battlegrounds wasn't required of much. Artos made some talk of probably a few thousand men or a few hundred northern cavalry, but definitely a promise about having the Manderly's sent some of their fleet down to help with troop transport and to bolster the Royal Fleet when it came to action with the Fleet of the Nine.

I think their was a general agreement among the Nine that they were probably going to be outnumbered by the Nine when it came to the naval arena or at a tactical disadvantage, especially if any of the pirates and sellsails of the Stepstones bow their flags to the Nine.

Although the Iron Islands was the land of ten thousand kings or something, Quellon could only promise the Iron Fleet. The Iron Fleet was the only fleet the islands could call upon that could reliably fight in a s naval battle. Longships were best suited for raiding instead of full pitched battles.

The reach was going to be supplying the largest contingent of men and materiel as Luthor had promised along with a promise that the Redwynne fleet would be involved one way or another. Those ships would be vital in the ferrying of troops and the supplying of needed material.

Apparently, the Stepstones did have fertile land, but it was rarely farmed due to the pirates, and the lands that were farmed could only support the local population and whatever pirate lord or tyrant the local population looked to for protection from the other pirate lords, pirates, slavers and the likes.

The support of the stormlands was already a given considering their relationship with the Crown and they would be sending the second largest contingent of men. The riverlands also promised men and materiel.

Dorne was probably serving one of the more vital tasks to the whole operation if it happened. Dorne was the closest to any of the kingdoms when it came to the Stepstones and thus, their position made them a perfect place for a staging ground for troops to be sent to the Stepstones. Both men and material for as long as the war continued.

"I was very impressed with you." Egg said at the end of it all. I raised an eyebrow and Egg raised a goblet of watered down wine to his lips, "You did as I asked. You kept quiet throughout all of the proceedings."

"Thank you. I can follow simple instructions, nothing to be impressed about grandfather."

Egg chuckled and in that moment I saw the idealistic men that seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. I blinked when I realised this was a chance right here. A goddamn good chance to see if I could lead him away from the path of burning down Summerhall and killing a lot of good people.

But how do I approach the subject though? I mean, if I just start talking about dragons, I was bound to raise some curious eyebrows from the old man.

The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms sighed, "If only more of the lords were receptive to most of my suggestions as like the ones of today."

Hold up. Was he hinting at the reforms that he had been trying to push through? I could probably us this...right?

"Your reforms? You mean." I asked.

Egg nodded as he brought the goblet to his lips again. He looked older than the last time I saw him, "If only the lords can understand the benefit of what I'm trying to give them. I don't know how they can't understand that my reforms are simply for their sake as well as for the smallfolk?"

My lips suddenly felt dry as I licked them, "Perhaps you are approaching this the wrong way?"

My question raised an eyebrow, "How so?"

I tried to think of a way to explain it. Problem is, I didn't particularly know what Egg's reforms entailed. I really should have looked that up. I was mentally berating myself for not actually looking it up when I had the chance other than working on the base assumption that basically boiled down to that he was trying to make the lives of the smallfolk better.

Especially in regards with not knowing how he was actually trying to do that.

"Well..." My brain was firing all synapses on full auto as I tried to think of something, "Perhaps you are approaching this in the wrong manner, grandfather." A slight shift in his facial features and I took that as a cue to tell me that I had him intrigued and that I should continue, "I mean, smallfolk have been living in their current conditions for thousands of years and the nobles have been living like they have for thousands of years. Nothing of note has happened and as far as they are concerned, they see no reason to change."

To my knowledge, there were no peasant's uprising like the Peasant's Revolt of England or the German Peasants' War, or if they were, they were never really covered in Aerys' Westerosi history lessons. I couldn't really put it past myself to not be surprised.

I was beginning to think that the lords didn't particularly care for things that impacted them directly so anything important or anything that impacted the smallfolk was something that did not matter all that much.

Or perhaps they were covered and someone figured that they weren't relevant for the education of a prince. Hm, something to check up on with Maester Gyldayn.

I think Egg was interested as he leaned on his desk and crossed his arms, "And how would you bring upon change that would make them care?"

"Ehh..." I blinked as I tried to think of something. Come on, how difficult was it to bring change without going the Littlefinger route? I tried to recall anything I knew about the medieval world from back home and I was only getting bits and pieces. Something about a middle class and something else about the death of knights as the be all, end all of the battlefield which led to gunpowder...I think?

Wait, didn't the Black Death have something to do with this shit?

Oh shoot, I was losing it here. I couldn't think of jack.

I just decided to try and bullshit my way through and hoped my bullshit stuck, "Start small." I began slowly, "Don't try to push everything all at once. Just have success stories of your reforms or something to convince the other nobles that your way is the right way." Oh god, that was so horrible that it's not even funny. My bullshitting wasn't working, "Look, let's just not try something drastic or anything. I mean, we don't have any dragons now, and when other Targaryens had tried to bring them back, it never ends well," Never ends well as in, everybody dies, "So we can't really force people to do whatever we want anymore, we have to be smart about it."

Something I said, probably the 'we don't have any dragons anymore' line set off something in Egg's head but I really hoped the other part that I said, that 'it never ends well' for anybody who tries to bring back the flying WMDs had stuck even more in his head. He smiled fondly at me as he walked towards me, "You make some good points, Aerys. But what kind of king would I be if I only looked to the few instead of the many?"

"Isn't that what many past king's have done?" I asked as Egg threw an arm over my shoulder and led me out of the council room, "I think I know which people a king would think more valuable, the nobles or the smallfolk."

He smiled, "Strange is it? Nobles rely on the smallfolk for much of their wealth and power. Yet many consider them to be well beneath them even though we rely on such people for near everything. A strange world we live in, is it not?"

"Strange." I nodded in agreement, "If you don't mind me asking, why do you do this? The reforms, everything. I know about your childhood, but did it have that deep of an impact on you?" Never read the Egg and Dunk series so I didn't know jack about the smallfolk lives.

And the same when it came to the modern series. Apparently, the Arya POVs explored the ordinary lives of the smallfolk during the original timeline, but once again, I skipped through them so I don't jack about the average smallfolk and their lives.

But I am rather aware of the consequences of the War in the form of the very popular, socialist, perhaps communist push-back by the smallfolk in the form of the High Sparrow and his Poor Brothers.

That had been fun, reading Cersei deal with them.

Egg's face saddened some, "It did. I saw much. I learned much. But it wasn't until your Uncle Daeron died then I realized what I had to do."

Daeron Targaryen? My dead uncle? What did he have anything to do with it?

Apparently, my confusion was plain on my face and Egg was nice enough to clear it up for me, "Your uncle died putting down a rebellion. A rebellion that was primarily caused by a noble who did not think much of his smallfolk."

I blinked, "Oh."

Oh.

That explained quite a bit.

Quite a whole lot more.


	13. Vol 2 - A Crown for a King

**XxX  
Volume 2  
A Crown for a King**

 **Ruinstone  
Stepstones**

 **Early 260 AC  
**  
We had the drop on them. They didn't see us coming. I don't think they even knew we were coming.

There had been ten of them and seven of us. Not exactly good odds, but a good ambush always has the chance of bringing victory to a numerically inferior attacker and I supposed this was good an ambush as any.

That, and Barristan fucking Selmy.

Shouldn't forget the Blackfish himself, Brynden Tully. Barristan had killed two men in what had seemed like the blink of an eye whilst Brynden had taken on the sergeant of this particular patrol group who had been able to react quickly and cut down one of our men.

Their little duel had been fought furiously at a pace that was hard to keep up with. In other words, the sergeant was at a level of skill with a blade in hand that would have seen me be a dead man, but Brynden had been able to kill the sergeant. A Tyroshi, judging by the ridiculous colors of his hair and beard.

Thankfully, my opponent was still taken by surprise when I ran my sword through him.

A bit of sick flowed upwards from my stomach but I was able to quell it. The man hadn't been my first kill, but it was still difficult coming to terms that I had taken a man's life. Again.

As it turned out, plotting someone's death was a far more detached action than actually killing someone with your bare hands. Less emotional attachment to the act and thus spared from all the rush of emotions that are released by the brain.

Soft feet hit the ground beside me, "Are you alright, my prince?"

I turned and smiled at the young lordling that had acquired after my health, "I'm fine, ser."

The lordling laughed some, "I'm no ser, my prince. Was never knighted nor squired." He tipped his head slightly, "Was just worried about His Highness, you seemed a little green."

Hopefully, a little less green from my first kill. I smiled as best as I could, "Probably the light playing tricks on your eyes, lord..." I trailed off for a name. I am ashamed to say that I did not take it upon me to learn all the names of the squad that I had been placed in.

Something I felt rather ashamed about, but then again, Ser Barristan or Brynden didn't really leave much room for chatter in the group. We had been scouting and scouting required stealth, and talking sort of ruined the illusion of stealth, with the noise and everything.

"Lord Niall Baelish of the Fingers, my prince."

I tried to think or recall if I've ever heard of a place called the Fingers. Then my geography lessons by Maester Gyldayn rushed into my head, "Of the Vale?"

"The same." Niall replied with a nod of the head, "Small, but I can hardly call any other place home."

I smiled, "Now you've made me curious. I should come visit some time."

The lordling blustered and his face took on a slight tint of pink. I raised an eyebrow at his reaction, "Clearly not, your grace. I doubt my humble abode is worthy enough to host royalty."

"Now, now, I can be the only judge of that. From what I have learned, most people don't think much of their own homes. It takes a fresh perspective to actually appreciate one's home."

Niall swallowed some, "Yes...Yes I suppose." He said weakly before he bit out a quick bow, "If you excuse me, my prince." He finished before quickly vacating himself and making his way towards a couple of men-at-arms.

Huh, what a strange man. I watched him for a bit and shrugged my shoulders before making my way towards Ser Barristan and a young Brynden Tully.

Fun fact, I was older than Brynden Tully and the son of a bitch wasn't even a knight yet and he was already making waves among the soldiery and knights. Apparently, when we had our first major battle against the vanguard of the Nine's army, he had killed some rather important looking people and captured other important looking people.

Brynden Tully, ladies and gentleman. Kicking ass and taking names.

...Did he already have the Blackfish nickname or was that a later addition?

I wonder how Hoster would feel if I stole that away from him. I had already stolen the Ninepenny thing away from Duncan and nothing drastic had happened and it seemed as if the universe was fine with me taking the naming rights to popular characters of the world that I now inhabited.

"...How many does this make now?" I overheard Brynden asking as he looked at a roughly drawn map. It wasn't accurate. It was very rare to find an accurate map of the Stepstones unless they belonged to pirates.

"Too many to count." Ser Barristan's voice was firm and iron for one so young. He spoke as if he was a man double the age of his tender twenty-two years of life, "They are getting bolder."

The Blackfish who was not yet the Blackfish rubbed at a growing red hairs underneath his chin, "It wouldn't be too much of an assumption that they are trying to get a handle on our numbers. Preparing for an attack."

"Perhaps..." The young knight said slowly, "But we can not jump to assumptions so quickly. For all we know, it might just have been our luck to run into three patrols in such a quick succession."

I decided to stop eavesdropping and make myself known, "Or perhaps they are very regimented and trained when it comes to their patrols and scouting."

The duo that I had decided to coin as the Boldfish turned their heads to face me. They both inclined their heads into a respectful bow, "Prince Aerys." They said at the same time on an unspoken signal.

I sighed, "I thought by now we would have stopped with the bowing and the 'Prince' title. I would much prefer it if you didn't get yourselves killed simply because of propriety."

"No-ones trying to kill us at the moment, Prince Aerys." Brynden remarked glibly. Well, I suppose that was true, "And no one is stupid enough to follow protocol in the middle of a battle. If so, you more than deserve to die for that form of stupidity."

Ser Barristan raised an eyebrow at the statement from the younger man, but that was all he did.

Oh yeah, I had completely forgotten that Brynden happened to be one tough son of a bitch that was rather outspoken and didn't seem to particularly give a single flying fish about what others thought about the things he says or how he says it.

I think I was going to like this guy. I took out my notebook from my trouser pocket to make a note that when I come into power, to give him some sort of position. Maybe Commander of the City Watch after I was done reforming it.

Wait, wasn't he gay or something? He was good enough with a sword already, so maybe I could add him to the Kingsguard? After I was done reforming it of course.

So many ideas, so little time and by the looks of things, I was running out of space in my notebook as well. I pocketed the notebook and turned my attention back to the deadly men in front of me that had been waiting patiently for me to scribble down whatever I had been scribbling down in my notebook from their perspective.

Hm, I now only realise how rude that habit of mine could be seen from an outside viewer. Heh, fuck em, I was a prince.

"So Nine might be preparing to make an attack on us?" I said, getting the conversation going again from where it had been left off.

"Perhaps," Ser Barristan said once more with a slight shrug of his shoulders, "Perhaps not. But first, we have to report back to Lord Ormund."

I nodded and turned my head towards the fallen king's man that had come all this way only to die at the blade of a random sellsword from Essos, "What about him?" In the week long patrol, we had engaged in combat three times and both of them ambushes when the enemy patrol didn't know what was hitting them and we hadn't lost a single person, even to injury.

Until now that was.

"We'll dig a grave for him and say the Seven rites." Brynden grunted out with a nod, "Best we do it quick though. We don't want to be here any longer than we need to. We are running out of daylight."

He could have at least tried to seem like he cared a little bit more, but whatever. Brynden was a deadly son of a bitch, but he also happened to be something of a jerkass.


	14. Chapter 14

**XxX**

"For the king! For Westeros!"

Prince Duncan cried out as he lead the charge of heavily armoured knights right towards right at the enemy. A charge I really did not want to be part off, as my horse rode as fast as it could right behind Duncan.

All around me, I could hear the sounds of battle all encompassing. The clash of steel on steel, the war cries and death throes of a thousand upon a thousand men, the thunder of hooves upon the earth and the splashing of water from the sea upon the beach.

Or was that blood?

All in all, I really did not want to be here. But here I was, a coward at the front of a charge into a writhing mass of humanity that would very much try to kill me if given the chance. I would have so very liked to just turn about, but you would be surprised that when you have a very good motivator of a several hundred armored men giving you 'motivation' to keep going forward.

Because frankly, I didn't know what was worse, getting trampled by the horses behind me or getting stabbed by something pointy by the people in front of me.

This was a horrible situation that I did not much care for.

Ser Barristan cried out from somewhere behind me, "To glory!"

For a mass of men as big as the one I was in, we moved with surprising co-ordination as we had somehow been able to stay in a relatively pristine wedge formation as we thundered across the open ground towards the enemy line.

"Oh fuck..." I more or less muttered as we crashed into the hastily formed line of men underneath a banner of some kind of stone giant.

Prince Duncan was one of the best knights in the Seven Kingdoms. Good with both sword and lance and it showed. His lance was able to break through a shield and rip a man's head off. Thankfully, I had seen enough sights of a like more than enough recently that I didn't feel like losing my lunch then and there.

His lance shattered, he had abandoned it and drawn out his sword quick like a whip and had started cutting down men left and right. Sers Gerold, Barristan and Gwayne had each killed a man with their lance and had each brought out their weapons to continue killing.

Blood flew and castle-forged steel slicked and shined red from the afternoon light upon the blood on it.

I lost track of what the others were doing after that. I was more or less concerned with staying alive, I had barely missed getting skewered by a pointy looking stick that might have been a spear or something similar before my horse hit something and ran over it.

Poor bastard.

His body was going to take on an excellent pastiche of a squashed tomato, grape or whatever fruit that squirt out juice when crushed.

The thing about sellswords is that, yes, you could about trust them about as far as you threw them, but when it came to war, they sought of knew their stuff. I'm sure they probably had never been at the receiving end of a knights charge before, but they had been on the receiving end of charges by Free Companies that either had cavalry among them, or mostly a cavalry based merc group.

In other words, they had tactics that could very well deal with cavalry when faced off against them.

"Unsullied!"

The tactic being the fucking Unsullied.

We hadn't seen them to be honest. Behind the first line of men we had crashed through and the relatively flat ground that we had been riding on, of course we couldn't have seen them.

But after breaking through the now blatantly obvious sword fodder, we could see a phalanx of Unsullied right in front of us. Spears gleaming held up before at the snap of a whistle snapped forward pointing in our direction.

I wasn't a tactician or that great of a strategist, hell, all of my military knowledge came from games such as Total War, but at the very least, I could very well like to say that I knew that spears and horses don't go all that well together.

I think Duncan knew this as well, but by then, the momentum of our charge was carrying us forward and there was really nothing that we could do about it. This was not going to end well, but at the very least, I hoped that we would be able to smash through the Unsullied.

They didn't seem to be that many of them, and their line seemed to be nothing more than three men deep, whether that was good or bad was beyond me. Then they started throwing javelins like they were all of a sudden Roman legionaries, the bastards.

Credit to them, they didn't aim for the riders. I think most of us were too heavily armoured for that bullshit. They aimed for the horses, which at best, some had leather barding for protection, but most didn't.

It didn't end well.

Not for the people at the forefront of the charge and certainly not for me.

My horse gave out right underneath me, sending me crashing to the ground. I think I must have sat a world record or something to how long I rolled and tumbled on the sand beneath me. As the world spun, I tried to get myself up or at the very least curl myself into a ball because I at least had the wits about me to remember that there were quite a number of armoured horsemen who had been right behind me and these horsemen might very well trample me with their horses if I was unlucky enough.

All the time, I was quietly muttering my prayers to whatever deity that was willing to listen. I also wondered whether getting trampled to death was a quick and painless death or was it slow and painful? I hoped for the former.

"Prince Aerys! Get up!" Ser Gwayne shouted as he yanked me to my feet. Somehow, he had been able to cut down two Unsullied that had been ready to stab some not so healthy holes into me.

The world still spun about, but I was beginning to get a handle on my bearings, "What happened?" That was a stupid question. I knew what happened. Unsullied happened. Unsullied and their stupid javelins happened.

Ser Gwayne didn't answer as moved to cut down some random sellsword that was not an Unsullied that had tried to capitalize on us thinking that one of us wasn't a seasoned killer who actually pained attention to his surroundings.

You know that sinking feeling you get in your stomach when you realise something bad was about to happen? Yeah, I was getting one of those. Lucky for me, it was a sunny day and I caught something shiny coming at me from my peripheral vision.

Thank the gods that I actually had a reasonable reaction time, or maybe I was one lucky son of a bitch to avoid getting stabbed straight in the head by another fucking javelin from an Unsullied. I was really starting to not like those dickless sons of bitches.

Sweet mother of all that's good and holy, somewhere in front of me, Duncan, Sers Gerold and Barristan had been somehow been able to break the Unsullied phalanx on foot and were cutting the slave soldiers with what I hoped was not contemptuous ease.

It probably didn't help that the only armour the Unsullied were wearing amounted to boiled leather, which didn't stand much of a chance against the castle-forged steel those three were wielding. Around them, around me, men fought and died like no tomorrow.

And Gerold just picked up a random Unsullied and threw him onto other Unsullied, with said thrown Unsullied being pierced by friendly spears. Wasn't he called the White Bull or something because he was freakishly strong?

I should think he deserved the nickname of White Hulk which was far more fitting as far as I was concerned.

In the midst of the melee, two Unsullied double teamed a knight that wore livery that was adorned with apples. Their spears scrapped against his armour, but one of them essentially sacrificed himself to make a grab for the knight and remove his great helm, just enough of an opening for the other Unsullied to puncture with his spear. Another knight introduced his morningstar to the head of one of the cannon fodder sellswords that had been able to survive the initial charge, making his head give a perfect impression of a crushed promenegade.

Oh wow, this was my first time seeing brains and bone all at the same time.

I was not going to be sleeping well tonight. Or ever. I hoped it was only for one night.

"Blackfyre!"

"What?" I turned my head at the shout and so some guy coming right at me, two axes in hand. He didn't look Westerosi and he seemed rather intent on seemingly wanting to kill me. I didn't agree with that.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I kept cursing underneath my breath as we caught blades. I was at a disadvantage, he had two axes and I only had one arming sword. I had a shield though, so that negated that advantage rather quickly when I realised that the thing on my left arm and weighing me down was used to defend yourself.

And attack as well when I rammed the edge of the kite shield into his face, enough I think, to sent some teeth flying and loosen them up. I found myself feeling rather good. I acted more on instinct after that act and swung at his neck, and blood sprayed out as the men clutched at his throat and started gurgling and drowning in his own blood.

Not long after that one, another one came at me and was trying to kill me. I killed him back. Where were these guys coming from? The Unsullied had been a surprise, but by the looks of things, their formation had been broken by the three one man armies that were the DGB (Duncan, Gerold, Barristan for those not in the know).

Fun fact, the Unsullied did not seem to farewell in single combat. It seems their entire strength came from being ridiculously disciplined sons of bitches that wouldn't break for your mama. When that was broken, against knights that had been training for something like this for their entire lives, they didn't really stand all that much of a chance.

That didn't mean they would just sit down and take a beating. They fought back. Sometimes, small units of Unsullied would band together under the command of an officer or sergeant...did Unsullied have officers and NCOs? Well, apparently they did.

They couldn't replicate the phalanx, but they could form something that looked rather similar to a schiltron formation. In other words, they stood in a circle or as close to a circle as they could, back to back and stabbed at anything that was trying to kill them or they didn't recognise as friendly.

I think I saw a couple of them kill their own allies.

With the amount of time that I had been swinging this stupid sword along with holding up a shield and all the armour I was wearing, I was quickly starting to tire out. I don't think I was the only one as well. Knights were starting to get sluggish with their movement, but their more lightly armoured opponents still moved with some life to them.

I think the only reason we were holding up for so long was because of said armour. It made it a bitch for the sellswords to kill us, whilst their lack of armour, made it rather easy for us to kill them in turn.

The thing is though, when things start going south or when things start looking to be a little difficult, sellswords tended to start running. They had started running quite a while back, but it was now more than noticeable.

They ran towards the main battle in the centre were their were more sellswords and the more elite Free Companies were located battling against the forces underneath the command of Lord Ormund.

I don't think they expected to see a detachment of cavalry separate from the battle and charge straight for them, a direwolf banner flapping freely in the breeze.

"Winterfell!"

It was a completely different experience seeing someone get trampled than actually trampling someone. If I cared enough or wasn't so tired, I think I would have winced quite a couple of times.

If Ser Rodrik's horse could so easily leave the front like they did, it probably meant that the battle had all but been won.

Good enough for me.

I needed a shower. Wait, there weren't any showers back at camp. So a bath then. To wipe all the grime, dirt and blood that was congealing on me.

I really hoped all the future battles weren't going to be as intense as these ones.

Then I realised this was just the first island of the Stepstones that we had taken and that there were a couple more to take to completely drive the Maelys' army out. That probably meant killing Maelys as well at some point.

Fucking brilliant.


	15. Chapter 15

I had been here long enough to learn that after every battle, no matter how minor or major, there always came a time when men celebrated and bragged about the achievements that they had garnered on the day. They talked of the glory, of the honour that they had achieved today.

I wasn't one of those people.

I was just glad that I was still alive and not one of the many men that had been vanquished. Jesus, sometimes, when I closed my eyes, that javelin barely missing me made my heart stop. That was ridiculous and this was going to be a regular thing.

And the worst of it all? Some part of me had enjoyed it. The adrenaline rush that came from knowing that one minor mistake, an unlucky encounter with a decent swordsman would have been the end of me had given me a certain buzz.

Through it all, as terrified as I was, I still found some of the danger exhilarating.

Was that supposed to be normal?

Someone knocked on my tentpost and I looked up and saw Duncan standing by the entrance, holding the flap to one side, "I'm surprised I haven't seen you drinking with the men."

"I'm not in a particularly good drinking mood." I replied. I was still going to drink later on. There was a reason as to why everyone drank wine of some kind like it was going out of style in Westeros.

Drinking water was just unhealthy to drink and not worth the risk. Well, unless it was boiled and left to cool, but that would take far too long for my liking if I needed a drink in a quick pinch.

Duncan entered my tent and got himself a seat, "You did well out there. Ser Gwayne said much good about how you held yourself." There was a glimmer of concern in his eyes as well as that of pride as he spoke.

I grimaced slightly, "Oh yeah. I think I killed a couple." Or perhaps more? It was strange.

I suppose killing in the midst of a battle came to a 'me or him' personality, and the self-preservation instinct would always result in me choosing myself. After the act was done, I didn't think much of it, and just carried on as if nothing had happened.

After everything was done, when things had calmed down and when I have nothing better to do than torture myself by replaying all those times I nearly died because I apparently was a masochist like that, it would suddenly hit me that I had gone about and took another persons life.

Strangely enough, I had thought that it would affect me more than it should. I had seen people say that killing another human being was something that went against human nature and that soldiers to help over come that mental barrier were essentially taught to dehumanize their opponents or something along them lines.

Then again, considering how everyone in Westeros was some sort of psychopath, perhaps that barrier didn't exist.

It would explain quite a lot of things I suppose.

"How are you handling it?" Duncan asked with some concern in his voice, "I apologise, but we should have had this conversation the day that you made your first kill. It's just that there were so many things to do."

I shrugged, "I don't know, well? I guess. I mean, I was expecting for it to affect me in someway, but I seem to be handling it quite well. I have yet to dream the faces of all the people that I have killed ever since we came onto this blasted rock. Is that supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Only you can answer that Aerys. As a lord, a prince and future king at that, killing, whether directly or indirectly will always be a part of who you are...but would you say that is all who you are?"

I scoffed, "No. I'm quite well aware that I'm no Terminator. I just happen to be sitting here because I was lucky enough to come across people who weren't all that better at me when it comes to fighting." I stopped for a moment and sighed, running a hand through my hair, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I suppose I have to thank you and Rodrik for giving me a hiding in the training yard all those times. I think that actually came to be helpful."

"It was a pleasure to be of service, dear nephew of mine." His face set into stone for a moment, "Have you seen Steffon?"

Steffon? Oh, I had completely forgot about him. Him and Tywin. We had each been separated the moment we had first made landfall. Tywin had gone with Ser Jason and the Lanniser hosts to make their way across the island from the northern coast, whilst Steffon had gone with his father Lord Ormund through the central route of the island. I had ended up with Duncan who was in command of the crownland and riverlander hosts on the southern coast.

I raised myself up from my seat slightly, "Why, what's wrong with him? He's not injured is he?" What I could remember about canon about the Ninepenny War wasn't all that knowledgeable, but at the very least, I liked to think that I would remember something of the likes of Steffon Baratheon being injured.

Or was that a minor detail that hadn't been given the dignity of being mention on his official wiki page?

Duncan blinked, "You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" I asked, "I've been cooped up in this tent ever since we made camp. Ask Gwayne. I haven't even left this place for anything. I wanted to have a little time to myself to wangst without anyone seeing it."

Duncan just gave me a look before he shook his head, "Lord Ormund fell in battle."

It was now my turn to blink, "Uncle Ormund is dead?" I have no idea why it surprised me. I knew that it was going to happen during this war, and I had resigned myself to one of those things I couldn't stop I don't think, because really, I didn't even know when or how he would fall in battle. The Prince of Dragonflies could only nod, "Fuck." I muttered as I fell back into my seat.

Steffon must have been devasted. He loved his old man and his old man loved him back. Sure, he was a bit of a hard man, but it was easy enough to see that he cared for his son and his nephew in me. The man really valued his family.

The former Crown Prince sighed, "Rhaelle is going to be bereaved. Unlike us, she had married out of duty and eventually grown to love him and he, her."

"I should see Steffon." I said, rising from my seat.

Duncan held up a hand as he shook his head, "No. Leave him be for now. He requested that of me and the other lords."

"He needs someone with him. A friend. Family. Anything. He can't be alone right now."

"Some people deal with their grieve in different ways. Some prefer dealing it in the company of their friends and companions, others in their own solitude. Steffon it seems, is of the latter. Going to him now would more than likely just anger him."

I wanted to say something, but the damn bastard was making some sense. So I decided to change the subject, "Who killed Lord Ormund?" Sort of, "I mean, I've seen him in the training yards. The man takes on several knights at a time for practice. And he always wins at the end of it all."

Lord Ormund was a beast. I liked to think that in the capital, if it came down to a fight between, Ser Duncan the Tall, Lord Ormund, Prince Duncan and Ser Gerold, it would probably end with either all of them mutually killing each other or a pyrrhic victory with one of them being left alive to live another day but with unhealable injuries.

I think this was the first time that I have actually seen Duncan look actually angry about something as he gave me an answer for my question, "Daemon Blackfyre."

"Daemon Blackfyre?" I repeated tilting my head to the side to think. Was I missing something here? I was sure that Maelys was the only Blackfyre left alive, well the only known Blackfyre if Varys and Faegon revealed themselves. So who the hell was this Daemon character? "Never heard of him."

"He's the previous Captain-General of the Golden Company."

I rubbed at my forehead as I tried to recall much of my meta knowledge. The only Daemon I could recall was the original Blackfyre, wait a minute, didn't Maelys kill another Blackfyre for control of the Golden Company? It was sketchy, but I think that was how it went.

So this Daemon was that Daemon? Then why the hell was he still alive?

Gods, don't tell me this is one of the tsunami's that has been released by the butterflies that I released flapping around their wings is it? Still though, I don't see how such a butterfly could even cause something like the survival of this Daemon character.

I don't even think he is well within the range of my influence...or was this some sort of bullshit of the world trying to screw with me somehow? Or the work of some dickhead god for screwing things up for him/her/it somewhere down the line?

I shuddered, the thought didn't bring me any sort of happy imageries of my own welfare.

"So we have two Blackfyres to deal with."

Duncan nodded, "From what Ser Joffrey has told me, out of the two, Daemon is more of the thinker than his cousin." And the fact that he killed Lord Ormund must also say quite a bit about his martial prowess, "I wouldn't be surprised if he is the reason why they have the Unsullied."

I shuddered again as I thought of those ridiculous dickless sons of bitches. Stab em? They'll try to stab you back without the slightest register of the thing that was currently poking inside of them.

That was rather...eerie and not all that natural. Like anything about the Unsullied was unnatural.

"Do we know how many Unsullied they have?"

"Ser Joffrey is currently trying to find that out now. He has people in Astapor that he is reaching out to." Duncan sighed, "Hopefully, I would like it if Maelys and his ilk only brought a few of the Unsullied, perhaps a couple of centuries, a thousand even. More than that, then we have a problem."

"We beat them didn't we? Clearly they are not that tough."

From what I understood, the Westerosi knew of the Unsullied. There was enough stories about them that it would have to be one very isolated and ignorant lord not to know of them. But just like everything pertaining to Essosi, the general consensus was that the Unsullied weren't as tough as those wimps across the sea said they were.

After all, who could be afraid of dickless wonders? Jesus, I hated the Unsullied.

My horse could have very well crippled me when it gave out underneath me, and we all know how cripples are viewed in Westeros.

"Not at all that 'tough', I agree with that sentiment nephew. But we lost many a good knights thanks to them. Some were killed by their own horses or trampled by the riders behind them, others are crippled for life and have demanded be given the Stranger's mercy."

I winced. Yeah, I suppose we can't be having too much of that. Knights were a rather expensive and limited commodity on our side.

So where the Unsullied, so in a protacted battle, it would all boil down to who had the better strategy, the better tactics, and if not that, who would run out of their special units first, the Westerosi or the Nine with their fucking Unsullied.

And I just realised that we hadn't even come upon the Golden Company and their stupid elephants.

Those were going to be a completely different nightmare all on their own.

I rubbed at the bridge of my nose, "I really need a drink."

Duncan gave me a wane smile, "I think we will all be needing some sort of drinks in the future."

Then I realised something, with Lord Ormund dead, hope he rests in peace, that meant command went to Duncan. I'm not going to lie, I was genuinely quiet sad about the death of Lord Ormund, he was something of a reasonable cool uncle, but with Duncan in command, I really hoped that would mean that I won't be finding myself at the forefront of charges again.

I really didn't like that.

I could have honestly smiled despite everything, if it wasn't for the fact that I suddenly realised that in times like this, the officers lead from the front. In other words, I was still going to find myself charging into the fray no matter the situation, one way or another.

The world truly liked screwing with me.


	16. Chapter 16

I didn't know whether this was a thing or not, but having spend enough time on death's edges, I had come to realise, I had stopped being such a coward. Actually, that was kind of wrong. I was still very much a coward, I just happen to have come to terms with my own mortality.

Sure, given the chance, I would probably run away from anything that seemed slightly capable of killing me, but having found myself in enough scrappy melees, charges and everything else that entailed medieval warfare, I just woke up one day to find myself that I didn't care so much anymore.

In fact, I found myself wishing that if something was going to kill me during this particular time, it might as well hurry up and get it over and done with already.

You have no idea how that train of thought terrified me.

My long-term goal, both in this life and back when I had the average life back home was to live until well into my nineties or maybe even become a centenarian if I was that lucky. Therefore, my sudden acceptance of the inevitability of death at the young age of sixteen, was wholly unsettling, to me.

Therefore, you have no idea how pleased or happy I was when one day, I fell off my horse and broke my arm. In other words, I had become entirely useless in terms of any sort of military action or manoeuvres.

So that meant no more charges into the jaws of death for me.

If it wasn't such an awkward action with my left hand, I would have done a victory pump. But I didn't because it was both awkward and that I was with other people who would look questioningly at me at the random action.

"How's your arm?" Steffon asked as we made our towards our respective uncle's tent who happened to also be the Commander-in-Chief of the Westerosi Army. If that was a thing.

I trailed my good left hand over my bandaged up right arm in it's sling, "Good all things considering. The maester said that my arm should heal properly and be in fine health if I don't do something stupid."

The broken arm had resulted from my horse throwing me off it's back and me rolling down quite a slope. Now, my horse didn't throw me off it's back because I was mistreating it or because I was a bad rider, but mostly because the patrol that I had been forced to join, had been ambushed by a group of sellswords from the Golden Pricks.

Long story short, my patrol got annihilated apart from little old me.

I had to make my way back to our own camp with a mangled up arm all the while being paranoid that it was going to get infected. That, and the fact that I had to deal with the paranoia that the Golden Pricks and there jolly fellows were chasing after me, so I periodically jumped at the slightest sound. The wind rustling through copious amounts of leaves, a twig breaking because of some deer or squirrel, you name it, I jumped at it. Thank god that by now, I had lost my queasiness because at how bent my arm had been, I would have more than likely thrown up.

The luck of the devil had been with me, but I didn't think I was going to get lucky twice, and thus, I figured my broken arm, which released me from doing any other duty was a blessing in disguise by some benevolent god that was looking out for me.

"You are a lot of things Aerys, but stupid is not one of them." My cousin remarked quietly.

Steffon had been...off lately. Not that I would blame him. His father had died in his arms, and to make things worse (better?) before Ormund had bought it, he had knighted him then and there. That had been the last thing that Ormund had done before passing on.

I wasn't a psychologist or even insightful into how people worked most of the time, but, maybe, just maybe, something like that happening couldn't possibly reflect on an impressionable young man all that well, would it?

Yeah, sure, psychologists weren't a thing at the moment, but Steffon had found himself a suitable therapeutic way of dealing with all the issues or feelings that he was currently suffering from. Beat the living shit out of any Golden Pricks or sellsword that he could reasonably get his hands on.

I was off the mind that if he ever got the chance to fight against this Daemon Targaryen character, he was going to take his sweet time into dealing a whole load of pain. Or maybe he would just go the Robert Baratheon route and cave in his chest with a mighty blow of his war hammer.

"You're family Steff, you are supposed to say that." I replied as we continued to walk through the camp. Common soldiers and noble knights nodded and bowed at us as we walked past. Some faces seemed familiar, but with all the dirt covering them, they could have been anybody, "What does Uncle Duncan want with me?"

The young lord of Storm's End shrugged his shoulders, "Who knows? All I know is that he asked me to get you. And here I thought, I stopped being a squire when my lord father knighted me."

I smirked somewhat, "Somethings never end, Steff. Look at me, I'm a prince and I still get sent on the most inane sorts of tasks. I just like to think that Duncan just likes screwing with me."

"He does that with everybody."

To protect Steffon from the politicking of the stormland lords, Duncan had sent for Steffon to become a part of his knightly retinue in the host he had command off, whilst Ser Gerold had been dispatched to take up the post of overall command of the stormland hosts.

Apparently, stormlanders were a tad bit difficult to deal with, that and unlike most regions, there was no definable 'second most powerful lord or House' in the region that command of the host could be passed onto without ruffling a few prideful feathers. Now all the Houses weren't equal in power, it was just that there were quite a few Houses that could rival each other in terms of wealth and power.

And that wasn't including the Marcher Lords.

Therefore, Duncan decided to sent Ser Gerold to take command. Ser Gerold wasn't a stormlander, although as a reachman, he might be considered not exactly the best option to take command of the stormlands, if it wasn't for the martial culture, even more so than the rest of Westeros, of the stormlands allowed the lords in command to respect that Ser Gerold was a complete and utter beast that knew how to knock some heads together and smash in some skulls.

That was it.

Ser Gerold simply had their respect and would be willing to listen to him simply because they knew that he could, and would very well be able to knock some sense into them without them really being able to do shit about it.

And to drive in the point, Ser Harlan Grandison had also been sent along.

Duncan's massive tent was located in the middle of the camp, black and red of course. Can't forget the fluttering three headed dragon flag dancing in the wind at the top.

You can never have enough dragons as far as some people were concerned. That, and everything had to be in a certain colour. No matter what.

I sometimes tried not think what would happen if said colours didn't at all compliment the clothes a person was wearing.

Steffon was the one who entered first, "Uncle? I brought him here like you asked."

I stepped inside the tent not long after him. I saw Duncan seated on the other side of a table, and saw several letters strewn around the table, "Thanks Steffon." He acknowledged with a nod as he rose up from his seat.

Steffon nodded and on some unseen signal turned to leave the tent. I watched his disappear as the opening flap closed before turning back to my uncle, "So what's this about?"

Duncan didn't so much answer me as more look at my arm, "How's your arm? Healing fine?"

"According to the maester, yes. Should be back to not being broken in a month or two."

"Good. That's good to hear." Duncan said as he looked for something on his desk.

I don't what it was, but to me, it seemed as if Duncan didn't seem to be as casually cool as a cucumber as he usually was. His fretting about on his desk wasn't helping at all.

He eventually found what he was looking for and held up something for me, "A letter for you, from your lovely wife, I suspect."

I walked towards the desk and grabbed the held out letter. I noticed that the seal was still there, so no, it hadn't been tempered with...as far as I could tell. I didn't bother looking for the letter knife and just ripped it open for the parchment within the confines and began reading it.

Ha.

Duncan raised an eyebrow, "What is it?"

My mouth opened to say something before closing. I tried it again and this time, was able to actually say something, "By the looks of things, I'm a father."

Had I been gone for so long that nine months had come and gone?

According to the letter, and I could recognise Branda's writing anywhere, I was now the father to a healthy baby girl by the name of Daenerys Targaryen. I found myself oddly detached to the whole-wait, hold up. Rewind.

My eyes went back to the part of the letter that told me the name of the child that I had brought into this world, and yes, there it was, the name Daenerys Targaryen. Of course, of all the names in the universe that she could very well choose, Branda happens to choose that one? Fuck that.

I wasn't buying it.

Clearly there was something at the works here. There was no way that would just happen.

I refused to believe that bullshit, but the letter was write in front of me, in my hands, saying other wise. No matter how much bullshit I called.

"And I suppose that's a good thing...?" Duncan said, bringing me out of my reverie as I realised the confused tone in his voice was because of probably, the various emotions that had been warring on my face a few moments back.

"Oh it's a good thing. Believe me. Just things...you know." I tried to explain.

Duncan looked at me sceptically, but he nodded nonetheless as if he understood. I don't think he did, "Well, I suppose all good news must come with some bad news."

Bad news? I tilted my head to the side, "I'm sorry, I don't follow."

He directed me towards a nearby chair, "Take a seat. This might be hard to take in." Oh, this did not sound all that good. I really should just turn around and walk away, but I took the seat anyway. Duncan's expression was set in a grim expression as he spoke, "News has come in from King's Landing. Jaehaerys is dead."

I blinked. Jaehaerys? As in my sort off dad, Jaehaerys? Okay, I knew the guy was weak and sickly, but I'm pretty sure he lived on for a couple more years and just didn't outright die just like that.

"I don't understand." No, seriously, I didn't understand. I know the butterflies are flapping and everything, but I cannot actually see how they could have honestly caused him to die a premature death than the one said so in canon, "How?"

"Officially? The Blackfyres. Unofficially? The Blackfyres."

"...I don't get it." Duncan then handed me a letter for me to read then I nodded as I folded it up and gave it back to him, "Now I understand."

I was all calm and everything, but inside? I was freaking out.

I think I might have just been the cause to as to why Jaehaerys is dead.

Well, not the direct cause, but one of the factors or indirect causes that caused his death. See, Jaehaerys didn't die in just your average every day death, he died whilst directing the City Watch to try and quench a fire that had ripped through most of King's Landing, killing thousands.

A fire that was somewhat distinctively green in colouring in some parts of it, whilst other parts happened to be your normal standard colour fire is.

Yes, that's right, wildfire.

Oh shit, what did those fucking pyromancers do? I mean, I told them to be fucking careful with the shit they did for me.

So it was kind of a no brainer that nobody needed to know that I may have somewhat indirectly caused the death of not only the crown prince and thousands of other poor souls. It just so happened that there happened to be a good scapegoat just across the sea that we happened to be fighting against at this very moment in time.

"I'm sorry." That was the only thing that I could honestly say at that moment in time as I realised I just fucked up in someway. I didn't know how, but I just knew that this entire tragedy that had happened somehow involved me.

"You have nothing to apologise for Aerys. As far as we know, this could have been planned by the Blackfyres. You don't need to blame yourself for this."

That was nice and everything, but I was still going to be guilty about this.

"So what happens now?"

"Now? You go back to King's Landing."

I had something of a double take, "I'm sorry, what?"

"You go back to King's Landing." Duncan repeated as he walked back to his desk and picked up another letter, "King's orders and mine as well. We have already lost Jaehaerys, the Crown Prince, which means that you are now the Crown Prince, and we can't lose you. Especially now, of all times."

"But I'm needed right here." In another time, I would have slapped myself silly as to why I was arguing against being sent to a place far safer than the place I was currently in, but once again, I couldn't really careless.

Come to terms with my own mortality and all that bullshit.

"Now you know that's not true. And this isn't up for debate. A ship is already waiting for you at the harbour, along with an escort. We can't take the risk of losing you."

"I'm a father now, remember?"

"To a daughter, not a son." Duncan rebuked, "I'm sure that I don't have to tell you about the Dance of Dragons?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but closed when I realised that he had a point. Once again, I doubt that the lords of Westeros would like taking orders from some girl. Sure, the north and maybe Dorne might support it. Tywin would be against it, because really, Tywin Lannister for equal-gender opportunity? That would be about as likely to happen as Balon Greyjoy being mildly intelligent.

Steffon would be a wildcard. Why? Because after everyone else, he was the most likely to come into the line of succession and that wasn't taking into consideration my other cousin in the form of Daeron Targaryen.

Then again, his mother happened to have been a lowly commoner and apparently, some lords took bloodline rather seriously around here, so he probably wasn't much of a risk.

Still though, it simply wasn't worth it.

And that is how I found myself escorted to a small port town that we had captured earlier on, and from there, onto a ship that was making it's way towards King's Landing.

Not going to lie, a part of me was jumping in joy at the thought that I wouldn't be involved anymore in any sort of fighting and death defying bullshit, whilst another was currently plaguing my mind with the knowledge that in some small manner, I had been involved in whatever had killed my father, thousands of others as well and destroyed a large part of King's Landing.

The letter had been ambivalent to the scale of the damage and the deaths apart from that of Jaehaerys, but this was wildfire here, there was bound to be a shit load of deaths and damage. I'm surprised the letter said nothing about King's Landing being nothing more than molten slag right about now.

I suppose before he had died, Jaehaerys had done quite the job in controlling the fire.

So here I was, lying in my cabin on my bed, wondering what I was going to see when we eventually turned up to King's Landing.

Then the bells started ringing and the frantic shouting and movement on the deck.


	17. Chapter 17

**XxX**

"Wake him up."

I wasn't sleeping merely resting, so there was no need for me to be 'woken up' especially with a bucket of cold seawater thrown into my face. Bastards, if they had given me a moment, I would have sat up or something.

As I coughed out seawater that had entered my mouth and tried, badly, to rub away the feeling of seawater in my nose, I couldn't help but glare at the bastard that was holding up the bucket of water, a stupid grin on his face.

Apparently, he didn't like the way I was looking at him and decided to show his displeasure by giving me a good kicking into my stomach. He said something in something that sounded like Valyrian but wasn't really Valyrian.

Another mongrel bastardisation of the Valyrian language and it was too dark to see which part of the Free Cities he came from. And I decided then and there that I hated this guy.

Someone else spoke, the person who had spoken earlier, but this time, I realised that voice was decidedly feminine. Whatever she said, it was enough to stop the fucker from kicking my ribs in. I suppose I should be thankful that none of the kicks had particularly aimed for my still broken, but slowly healing arm.

I was genuinely surprised that I had been treated as gently as I had been.

I slowly sat up. Again.

Wiping away the water from my eyes, I finally got a look through the shadows of the cell that I had found myself inhabiting. There were two of them, one of them the fucker that had decided to give me a good kicking and another that was slightly more feminine in body, but significantly taller and longer limbed than the guy.

Oh yeah, she seemed to be ripped as fuck also.

She stepped forward slightly into the light being cast by the moon from the small window of whatever prison I was being held in. Skin as dark as ebony, I figured her out to be from the Summer Islands, and like I said, very well ripped with muscular arms. I figured she was probably once a beauty in her life, but the scars on her face and clean shaven skull sort of ruined that.

She wasn't ugly by any stretch of the imagination, the scars themselves giving her something of a rugged beauty to her.

Did I mention that she was also rather tall? Like seven foot or something.

"I apologise about that," She said, speaking with a slight tilt to her voice that I couldn't recognise. Then again, I had yet to speak to anyone from the Summer Islands, and this would sound rather ridiculous, but her accent seemed to sound somewhat Caribbean to me. I know, silly, "I should have told him to be more gentle with you." She finished, I think her eyes drifting slightly to my still cast up arm.

"That was supposed to be gentle?" I asked, using my one good arm to rub at my stomach, I could just feel the bruises forming.

She gave me a white tooth grinned and something glinted in the moonlight. Oh lookie, she had gold grills, awesome, or was it gold teeth?

"More gentle than most."

Well, I suppose I didn't want to find out how worse they could treat me, so I decided to leave it at that, "So who are you anyway? I don't think we've met. I'm Aerys by the way."

"I have had many names, so many I have since long forgotten the name my parents gave me...but most know me as the Old Mother."

Oh, one of the Nine. Well would you look at me, going around the social circles and making friends, "Huh, you don't look that old." I more or less snarked.

"I age gracefully." She returned, almost amused.

"I still wouldn't be pleased with the person who gave me that little nickname." I craned my neck to see if I could see past her and towards the open door that more or less led to freedom or death, most likely death, "You know, if you release me right now, perhaps there would be something in it for you at the end of all this."

She hummed as if she was thinking about. I got the distinct feeling that she was probably going to reply just to play with me.

"Such as?" She asked.

I licked my lips, even if I knew deep down that this was nothing more than a lioness playing with her pray, "Lands. Gold. I'm a prince. I'm worth quite a lot of gold and lands. Don't forget the land...and the gold."

"Not just any prince, but the crown prince now, so that must be even more gold and land, yes?"

I blinked, "Oh, you know about that?"

She smiled that grin of hers again at me, "We have our own spies, just as you do yours. How do you think we were able to capture you?"

I grumbled, but I suppose that made a lot of sense. I shook my head, "So what, the whole burning down King's Landing and killing my father was some sort of elaborate trap to capture me?" Yes, I know that's not exactly how things went out, but hey, she didn't need to know that.

And to be very honest, capturing me didn't make all that much sense. Yes, I was the crown prince, but that still didn't make all that much sense to me as to why go through all this trouble of just capturing me, instead of just outright killing me. That's apparently how you take thrones, kill the men, wed the women.

"According to the Blackfyres, what happened to King's Landing had nothing to do with them." She crouched down and looked me straight in the eyes with eyes dark as sin, "So tell me, is what they say true?"

I wasn't all that good a liar, I tended to exaggerate my lies that made it rather obvious I was talking so much out of my ass that I actually tried to lie as little as possible. That or by deflecting, "Don't trust your own allies? How does that work?"

She smiled then her arm shot out and grabbed my broken arm. Her hand wrapped around my entire arm and then she squeezed. I think screamed. In pain.

"Why don't you answer my question instead?" She asked ever so politely as she continued to squeeze my hand.

I really didn't know why she cared all that much about what the Blackfyres were saying, and with my attention currently taken by the more pressing concern of my broken arm being abused by a woman who seemed to have the grip strength of a power claw, I really didn't care as to why she cared.

"Because I don't know!" Didn't mean I was just going to just blabber out what I knew. At the very least, I could be trusted to keep a secret.

"What do you know?" She asked, hand squeezing tighter.

I think I heard a bone creak or something and tears were stinging my eyes.

"I don't know, dammit!" I reiterated. And then she stopped and released my arm just like that. Oh thank god she-.

"Jino, question him." She suddenly said, standing up and making her way towards the door, "Thoroughly."

Oh fuck no. I didn't like the sound of that.

The guy known as Jino said something in bastard Valyrian and the Old Mother replied and I didn't particular like the savage looking grin on his face. The pirate queen left, slamming the door shut after her, leaving me alone with her pet psychopath.

I scrambled as far back as I could as this Jino fellow closed in on me, then I realised that I couldn't really scramble because there was a fucking wall behind me.

"Look, girls, gold, land, whatever you want, I can give it you." Just don't hurt me, please. Look, I wasn't looking forward to the prospect of being tortured. Especially considering what passed around this world for torture.

Jino didn't seem to care as he continued to make his way towards me. Then it hit me the son of a bitch didn't speak the Common Tongue.

What a horrible torturer. How was he going to ask me questions if he couldn't even speak the same language as me?

Then he lashed out with a kick, to my broken arm and this time, I definitely felt something go. I screamed. Again, but I think I can be forgiven.

Okay then, my broken arm, just got broke, again. I really wished this won't have anything damage my ability to use it as well as I did before. Jino pulled his leg back again and this time, I just didn't take the beating like a bitch.

I rolled away just in the nick of time to see him kick the fucking wall and let out a curse in his foreign tongue. Yeah bitch, hurts doesn't it? I really hoped that fucking foot was broken after the shit he had done to me.

Apparently, the gods weren't looking on me so much as he turned in the direction that I rolled away from him. He made ground and grabbed me by my now dirty and ruined shirt and hefted me to my feet. He then proceeded to plant punches into me, first into my stomach and it got worse from there.

"You are supposed to be questioning me, not beating me black and blue!" I yelled at him in-between beats.

Then the door slammed open and something glimmered in the moonlight before I felt a spray of water wash over my face. I blinked as Jino unceremoniously crumpled to the ground, taking me with him since I was still in his grip.

It was then that I noticed that he didn't have a head. Okay, what?

Someone stepped into the moonlight and damned was I pleased to recognise the face.

"Prince Aerys, apologies for my tardiness."

Gwayne Gaunt, you beautiful son of a bitch.


	18. Chapter 18

**xXx**

Tugging at the cloth that was keeping together the make-shift stint on my arm until a maester could get a look at it, I returned to my original task of creeping through the hallways of the depilated prison that I had been placed in, "Out of pure curiosity, how are you still alive? I saw you get thrown overboard."

"It takes far more than a little water to kill me." Gwayne responded as he led the way through the hallways. I noticed that apart from the sword that he was carrying, he was massively under-armoured for a knight, as in no visible armour of any kind.

Hearing his response, I shrugged, I was just happy that things were still looking out for me. That I wasn't being beaten black and blue because some idiot didn't understand that interrogation did not give someone license to beat the living shit out of me.

As we made our way through the darkened hallways that were occasionally lit with torches ensconced into the walls, there was always a niggling worry at the back of my head of someone coming across the body of that Jino fellow that Gwayne had thoroughly decapitated and raising the alarm.

And then from there, we would every damned pirate on the island, if we were on an island, looking for us. That Old Mother bird probably wouldn't be happy as well to having one of my, actually, my favourite underling off of one of her own underlings, probably someone she trusted.

Because really, why would you leave the job of interrogating a royal to someone you don't trust? Especially if said interrogator didn't seem to know anything about interrogating a person.

Yes, I was still very much bitter about what had happened to me back there. Anybody would.

Fucking ass.

We were somehow able to make it to the entrance I remember being half-waking, half-being dragged through before I had been thrown into my cell when I got captured. Gwayne held out a hand to make me stop and I stopped and waited nervously as he peered through the entrance.

He then released three soft whistles that sounded somewhat suspiciously like bird whistles.

No way.

A moment later, three bird whistles rode the winds in reply and Gwayne stepped out into the moonlit opening confidently enough that I just followed him without thinking.

Who could have known that Gwayne wasn't working alone? I wondered who was working with him and whether this person he was working with was equally a badass as Gwayne himself.

Some bushes rustled before his partner revealed himself. It was too dark to see, but as he got closer, I quickly learned two things; one, was the fact that Gwayne's partner was nothing more than a child. Actually, I'm pretty sure that he was like Steffon's age or something.

Second, it felt as if I should know that face from somewhere, although I can't quite put a place as to where I could have potentially met a one-eyed, scarred teenaged boy who seemed like he was ready about to kill everything and everyone at the slightest provocation.

"Ser Gwayne." The youth said, his voice sounded as if it had just started to break and considering the reddish pimples on display on his face, puberty must have just hit him.

Gwayne nodded his head at the teenager, "Samwell."

Samwell? Hold up. I pointed at the teenager, "Samwell Waters?"

Samwell Waters turned his head in my direction and bowed, "The one and only, Prince Aerys. I'm glad that you remembered a lowly cabin boy such as me."

"I remember you being a lot more scrawny the last time we met."

He laughed meekly enough as he straightened himself out, "Working on a ship tends to build some muscles."

I nodded my head as I put the face of the baby faced kid from two years ago with the muscled teenager in front of me at this very moment. Come on, was everyone apart from me getting ripped nowadays? It was so unfair.

"How's your father?" I asked.

Whatever joviality Samwell's face held immediately disappeared only to be replaced by a stone cold countenance, his lone eye burning with a rage of a passion the rest of his face couldn't or was unwilling to meet, "Dead, Your Grace. The Conciliator was the ship accompanying yours back to King's Landing. The pirates hit us first, Father went down fighting with his ship, like a good captain."

"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss, Sam." I really was but by now, Ser Joffrey was certainly not going to be the first man to die for me, or because of me, so the guilt that I would feel any other time was there, but had been compartmentalized enough so that it wouldn't affect me.

He shook his head, "None of it was your fault, Prince Aerys. Father did his duty, so shall I with returning you back to King's Landing."

Gotta give the kid props for the dedication. And speaking of King's Landing, "How are we going to do that exactly? I don't think the three of us are going to be able to sail a ship by our lonesome for the journey." Thankfully, and by some miracle, if we could, we probably had a navigator in Samwell who knew the way back to the capital.

Gwayne took over, "The Old Mother is a fearsome pirate, true, but like most pirates, she doesn't make her living from just raiding ships and taking their goods and wealth."

I sighed as I realised where this was going, "She's also a slaver isn't she?"

The Kingsguard nodded his head, "That she is. Whatever men that were captured when she made her attack on our convoy, she made sure to capture."

I wasn't going to say I was surprised. I supposed in someway, piracy was a business at the end of the day. It was all about the bottom line. There was probably some element of that whole freedom on the seas spiel, or maybe that was me being subtly influenced by One Piece, who knows? Not me at the moment.

And slavery was a lucrative trade going by how everyone in Essos was obsessed with it. So it also made sense for the Old Mother to make sure that her bottom line was padded the way up as many ways as possible.

"Some would say that her men went out of their way to make sure that they captured as many of our own as possible." One-Eyed Samwell grumbled, eyes crossed and single eye staring into the ground.

Well, it was said capturing someone alive was far more difficult than outright killing them in a field of battle, "Their objective was to capture me. Maybe that was the point?" And the others were a bonus as far as they were concerned.

"Plausible." Gwayne said with a grunt, "We should move. Someone might come to check on how you are." He finished as he began to lead the way through the bushes.

My prison had been located at the top of a small hill with one single road that led down into a small looking village. Small as in it could probably hold a couple of families and since I doubted your average everyday family was a thing here, those buildings probably hosted pirates and the captured sailors that Sam had spoken off.

The single road was a quick way for us to get spotted and get promptly captured again and I doubt the Old Mother would be so kind to me as she was before, so Gwayne led us into the village using the dark as cover. Whenever there wasn't a cloud to obscure the light coming from the moon, we would hide in whatever shadows that we could find and wait for a cloud to give us the dark that we wanted.

Once again, stealth really wasn't much for an option for a guy with silver-blonde fucking hair that was coupled along with purple eyes. I stood out like a sore thumb. And apparently, my hair was reflective, thankfully, muck, sweat and some dirt had lowered that particular characteristic to a barely noticeable level.

As we creeped our way towards and into the village, Gwayne and Samwell had explained the plan to me. Sam had been one of the sailors that had been taken prisoner by the pirates, but had been released by Gwayne. From a cage full of captured sailors.

In other words, there was a group of sailors that were currently pretending to be captured just waiting for the signal to go all balls out on the pirates/slavers. And they weren't the only group of slaves or captured sailors that Gwayne had released during the time that he had been skulking around on the island.

Say what you will about the Kingsguard and their sometimes one mindedness to the 'Honour above Reason' rule, but when it came to doing their duty as their honour commanded them to do, they went above and beyond.

Barristan Selmy, I'm thinking of you right now.

"Stay here." Gwayne said as we hid in the shadows of an alleyway, "I'll go give the signal."

I nodded before asking, "What is the signal?"

He smiled, "You'll see it soon enough."

The knight left me and Sam not long after that. We waited in the dark and the shadows they gave us for what seemed like eternity. At some point, it felt like we were going to be discovered by some pirates that were passing through the street that we were hiding off.

But somewhat like stereotypical pirates on land, they were so gone that I was surprised most of them could walk as straight as they did. Even better, know where they were going. Maybe they were just wandering around at a loss of worlds, I mused to myself.

Then the bells and the shouting started.

Me and Sam looked at each in the dark as we could hear people shouting and screaming and of course the bells. Through some unspoken signal, we inched forward towards the edge of the alley and dared to peak as much as possible into the light.

I squinted slightly as I had to wait for my eyes to adjust to the sudden rush of well lit streets, but I could definitely see what the commotion was all about. At the end of the village, away from the dock where the boats were located, several large fires had been lit.

Men were rushing towards said fires with buckets of water, shouting whilst they did so.

Once again, me and Sam looked at each other, "I guess that's the signal then."

The former cabin boy shrugged his shoulders, "I suppose."

Then a new sound was added to the din of the night. The sounds of something I had become quite used to in the past few months. The sound of men letting loose their war cries and the joining of battle.

Gwayne soon made his reappearance after that, along with a fairly large group of men that was probably in it's dozens that was making a head long rush towards the docks. I saw that some of the men were armed with make shift clubs and some even had bladed weapons that seemed to have been recently bathed in blood, "We need to go, now!" The knight ordered.

We didn't need to be told twice as me and Sam scrambled to our feet and joined the rush of men.

I didn't quite understand what was happening. On one hand, I was sure some people were fighting, so who were this lot who were running like mad towards the dock? Well, I didn't particularly care, but if they could sail a ship, then it was all good as far as I cared.

So we ran. Ran as fast as we could.

Then the pirates figured something was up and started chasing us. Well, the ones that weren't fighting, or perhaps these were the ones that had been fighting and had already finished off the poor bastards that had been the diversion to buy us time.

Words were being shouted in a language I didn't understand and they seemed to be pretty angry. I decided it probably wasn't best to be captured again. In other words, that gave me more than enough motivation to pump my legs even more than they were already pumping.

"Get on the ship!" Someone was shouting in basic as they waved the men onto the nearest boat, "Prepare for sail! I don't think anyone wants to be on this blasted rock anymore than they want to be!"

Running up the gangplank was quite the ordeal. Ordeal considering the factor that there was several men running up it at the same time and occasionally, a thought would run through my head that it was going to snap and drop us all into the water.

Thankfully, that didn't happen.

I actually helped when it came to the whole sailing thing. Well, I tried to help, but as surprising as it is, it turns out being one handed doesn't do much for you when it comes to a labour intensive task as running a ship. So I just stood there, dodging arrows whenever they came.

When we started to slowly move away from the dock, a pirate launched himself at the stern of the ship. Knife planted firmly between his teeth, he started crawling his way up like he was Spider-man or something.

Yes, I was one armed, but there was still something that I could do. Grabbing one of the fallen makeshift clubs, I looked over the gunwhale towards the guy slowly crawling his way up.

I was a righty and my right hand was currently out of commission. So my left it was. And it was pathetic.

I sort of hit him, but the throw had been so weak that it didn't do much but cause a slight grunt. Sam's effort was far better than mine as he dropped a barrel straight onto the guys head. I think I head something go crunch.

Ouch.

Looking back towards the dock, I could see a powerful figure, the Old Mother and she didn't look to be all that happy judging by her body language, directing the traffic of pirates towards the rest of the ships, preparing to give us chase.

"This is going to be far more difficult than I thought it's going to be." I mumbled as chaos surrounded me as men worked their stations with as much organised chaos they could muster. I was sure some of the sailors on-board had never served with each other before, so the synergy wasn't as it was, but they were somehow trying to make it work.

"Ships at the bow!" Someone from atop the crow's nest shouted down to the deck.

"More pirates?" Sam cursed as he nearly broke his neck to look at the bow of the ship and into the night where the ships had been spotted.

Hearing that, I sighed as I figured of course it wouldn't be that easy. This was Planetos. Nothing could be that easy.

"I suppose I should prepare myself for another beating then." I said in resignation. And who was to say that the Old Mother would be so lenient with me this time? She might very well cut off my legs to stop me from running away.

Sam's eye squinted into the night in the direction of the ships that were coming at them at full speed, "Somethings off about those ships."

"How so?" Could he make out details? Good for him. Those were some good eyes-eh, eye.

"They are smaller than a pirate ship has any right to be for starters." He licked at his dry lips, "If I didn't know any better, I would dare say they seem more like longships."

Longships? Oh joys of all joys, "Greyjoys." I groaned. I didn't want to deal with Greyjoys and what where the Greyjoys doing here?

The sailors prepared for a fight as the ships quickly closed the distance between them before to their surprising speeding past us and head towards the pirate ships that had been on our tail but were suddenly deciding to cut their losses and run for it.

And yes, they were Greyjoys. The golden, multi-armed beast that was the Kraken had been more than visible enough as it moved past.

One of the longships, this one bigger than the others came beside the ship that we were on, whilst others that hadn't gone chasing after the pirates had surrounded our ship. Some guy stood upon the figurehead of a Kraken all confident like, even as his ship was rocked by the sea waves, that didn't seem to bother him at all.

"My good sers," The man shouted from the top of his lungs, yet it didn't seem like he needed to. His voice was audible enough as it was and carried with it a confidence of someone who knew what he was doing, "I will kindly accept your surrender."

"Lord Quellon, is that you?" Gwayne hailed, suddenly appearing beside me.

"That be I." Quellon replied, "And you are?"

"Ser Gwayne Gaunt of the Kingsguard."

"And what would a Kingsguard be doing on a pirate ship?"

"Why, doing what a Kingsguard always does." Gwayne replied, "Protecting a member of the royal family." 

**xXx**


	19. Chapter 19

**xXx**

Jesus, King's Landing was a wreck.

Blackened scorched earth was more than visible as we made approach towards the docks. Or what was left of the docks. All the way from the Hill of Rhaenys to the docks was nothing more than a sea of black and that was terrifying.

How many people had died? Hundreds? Thousands? Hundreds of thousands?

Dammit! I told them to be fucking careful! Especially with the fucking bullshit that was wildfire they had growing underneath there. Maybe I should have just gone to the maesters? Maybe I should have done something else? Thrown out all my inhibitions about working with those bastards.

At the very least, the sight in front of me wouldn't have come to pass.

I tried. I really tried, but I really couldn't come up with a way to play this off. Yes, Egg had acted quickly to put the blame on the Blackfyres, but at the end of the day, this was also my fault.

I was the one that had given those insane idiots the green light to do the shit they were doing, and why? Because I figured the things they would built would be good for the people and help in preparation for the ice demons and their zombies that were going to be a thing in forty years or so.

That, and to make my life easier.

Something like this happening had not even as much as crossed my mind. It really should have, but what was the saying about hindsight? Of all the words of something, the worst was 'What could have been?' Or something like that.

I think that was how it went or how it was supposed to go.

I missed the internet. If I had the internet, something like this probably wouldn't have happened. I would have had the information on the tip of my fingers to tell me what to expect when something goes wrong.

Oh bloody hell, at the very least, when they were dealing with the fertilizer, I could have found them a workshop or something outside the confines of King's Landing. Never work with anything that goes boom inside the confines of a densely populated city!

Come on Aerys, you should have known this!

"King's Landing has seen better days, I see." Quellon Greyjoy said, suddenly appearing beside me at the bow of his long ship.

His sudden appearance brought me out of my personal chastisement. For now that was, "Much better." I responded as coolly as I could possibly reply. I didn't want to be gloomy to the person that had more than likely saved me from a fate that could have been worse than death.

He placed a paw of a hand on my own slender shoulder and tried to be comforting. Surprisingly, despite being an ironborn and a Greyjoy, he was somehow able to pull it off, "Don't worry about it, Your Grace. We'll get the Blackfyres for this. For this and more."

I wondered how much he knew about what had exactly happened, but nonetheless, I nodded my head, "I'll hold you to that, my lord."

Quellon Greyjoy was a good egg.

A good egg that it was actually genuinely surprising how this good egg was somehow able to produce the bad eggs that were Balon and Euron Greyjoy. I mean, how does that even happen?

Planetos genetics were screwy, perhaps it had something to do with that? Written somewhere in the Greyjoy gene was a need to be as much of an asshat as possible and sometimes, as rare as a summer sun in the middle of the arctic, a genuine decent human being in the form of Quellon would pop up every once in a...uh, hundred generations?

My Greyjoy history wasn't the best and therefore, excuses can be made on my behalf for not knowing any half decent Greyjoys and my colouring of them were mostly in the negative side thanks to all so many forums abdicating, one way or another, the said genocide of an entire group of people because they didn't make sense or were just so pathetic that it surprised anybody how they were able to function or surviving for as long as they did.

I knew that there were some good ironborn and Greyjoys, Rodrik and Asha being two that I could name. There was also that ironborn that had converted to the Faith that Euron drowned. He had been made to sound reasonable enough before catching a bad case of death.

"How's your arm?" He asked, removing his own hand of my shoulder. The reason as to why I used a paw to describe his hand? Because Quellon was big. And something of a beast considering how everyone on his ship seemed to be in awe of him.

And those in awe of him seemed to be just as big as he was.

I delicately raised my bandaged up arm as best as I could, "Could be worse, but definitely could be better."

My arm worried me.

Sometimes, I woke up in the middle of the night because I couldn't feel it only to see that it was still attached to my hand. I don't think that was a good sign or anything that could be considered good. Credit had to be given to Quellon though. He didn't have a maester or someone who knew enough about setting bones, but he at least had someone that could at least try something.

"I would have had a maester look at that," Quellon spoke as he made a motion of his long ship, "But there's only so much room available on a long ship."

"It's none of your fault, my lord. It's not like you were expecting to pick up an injured prince of the blood whilst out on a raid."

On one hand, the man had gave me something to think about. Note to self, I should probably, when I get around to it, make it a point that a surgeon/doctor equivalent along with at least two apprentices was a thing on any royal battleship. Something like that would go a long way to reducing deaths.

Or maybe they already had it and I didn't know about it? Well at least it as something to check out.

This was good.

Thinking of these things took my mind away from the devastation I was rapidly approaching, but that didn't stop me from thinking about it. So I tried to turn my thoughts away from the destruction to as horrible as it was, into an opportunity to improve shit.

By the looks of things, loads and loads of buildings had been turned into charcoal and molten rock as wildfire had been involved in some of the burning. So that opened up some prime areas for new real estate developments.

The Westerosi clearly had no problem with building big, so why not save space and build apartment complexes? Stuff quite a number of families into one building, of course making sure that it had a working plumbing system and adequate enough room so that no complaining could be had.

And speaking of plumbing, the extra space would surely go a long way to at least working on the sewage system to make it work. But how do you store the waste? I wasn't much of a environmentalist, but at the very least, I liked to think myself practical when it came to the environment.

So what to do with all that excess waste? Dig a big hole? Nah, I don't think it would last for long. Flush it into the sea? Well...that was one idea and I think Tyrion did that for the plumbing for Casterly Rock or something.

That was one thing, problem is, I liked my seas and oceans to at least be marginally clean and not defiled for forever.

Hm, something to think about.

Oh fuck, the pyromancers and all the bullshit they were making for me was now gone!

I could have slapped myself publicly with my useable hand then and there when that little bit of knowledge crawled into my head. Every single damned thing I had those insane morons making for me was probably up in smoke and that sucked so many balls I didn't want to think about it.

I felt like crying.

Or screaming out in anguish.

This was complete and utter bullshit.

Could I not at least have one silver lining from this entire mess?

"Urgh..." I groaned as I ran an open hand over my face.

Quellon raised an eyebrow at my random action, "Your Grace?"

"It's...nothing." I turned around and began to walk away, "I'm going to go lie down for a moment." And hopefully, the ship will snap open and the cold waters of the Blackwater would embrace me deep and dark below.

This was complete bullshit. 

**xXx**

Princess Shaera had come out of nowhere and literally embraced me in a bone crushing hug that I had not been expecting and was not all that wanted considering my current state, "Oh Aerys, your lord father." She said.

Yes, I knew about Jaehaerys, but I'm kind of sorry to say, my broken arm that was still broken and had been re-broken by a sadistic bitch was still broken, "Mother, I know. I've been told. And ow, my arm."

She stepped back slightly from hugging me, looking at me weirdly before she noticed my sling, "Oh," She let out in surprise. She touched the arm gently, concern and worry on her face, "I knew sending you on this campaign was a mistake. You are-were Jaehaerys' heir. You had no business being on a battlefield."

I would resolutely agree with that, but I still had to keep up appearances. There were people around, "Couldn't be helped mother. Uncle Duncan was there, and I am his squire. A squire's place is beside his master at all times."

I don't think she believed judging by the look she gave me, but she didn't get a chance to voice her disbelief as Queen Betha walked up, my lovely sister right beside her. Wow, I hadn't seen Rhaella in a while, but she seemed to have finally matured into a beautiful young lady, not that she wasn't beautiful before, but now? Wow.

And the colour black was really good on her. You go girl.

And the fact that I was thinking like that about my own sort-of sister kind of freaked me out. I blamed it on the Aerys inside me.

"Rightly so, Aerys." The queen said with a nod of the head, but she allowed a small, warm smile to come across her face, "But it's good nonetheless to see you unharmed." I raised an eyebrow and indicated towards my broken arm. She was quick to catch on, "As unharmed as you are."

Rhaella surprised me by actually giving me a hug, but I was quick enough to react to loop my good arm around her waist, "It's good to see you again brother. After everything that happened." Like I had said before, Rhaella was something of a daddy's girl. Jaehaerys' death had hit her hard. So I supposed that explained a lot as to why her voice seemed to be well, dead.

"I missed you too, little sister." We separated and I looked around, "Where's Branda?"

"Busy taking care of your daughter. Ball of energy that little one is." Betha answered my question for me.

That meant that she was probably in our solar. Or somewhere else. Wouldn't be that hard to find out where.

Although I had yet to see my daughter or my wife, my arm worried me. It was probably best if I went to go see Maester Gyldayn to have a look at it.

"Where's Maester Gyldayn? I need to see him."

Princess Shaera raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong?" She asked, some worry seeping into her voice. I pointed at my arm but before I could say something, she spoke up again, "I wasn't that forceful in my hug."

I shook a hand, "No, nothing like that mother. It's just, well, my journey here was not easy." I didn't want to tell them about my time in the care of the Old Mother. No need for them to worry with that sort of news, "I just need to make sure that my arm is fine. It's nothing more than a check-up."

She nodded as she understood, "Very well, you'll probably find the maester in his office. We were heading to see your Grandfather, but I'm sure Rhaella will lead you to them. At the very least, use this time to get to each other more. Much and more happened in the past months you were away. A little conversation between siblings can be hurt, especially to heal from the wounds that have been inflicted on our family."

I blinked but nodded and allowed Rhaella to lead the way. Well, she didn't need to lead the way. We both knew the way to Gyldayn's office, so we just walked side by side.

Strangest thing is, we didn't talk to each other. Not so much as a peep for most of the journey.

I'm not going to lie, I didn't know how to deal with this. I wasn't one of those people that got overly emotional at the death of family. I mean, people died and not to be borrowing off Jamie Moriarty, but that's what people did.

They lived and they died.

It was like one of the most basic laws of the universe. At the end of the day, after how so many years, you died.

Yes, I was remarkably aware how hypocritical my belief in death was to my own cowardice. I was more than aware of it. It was more along the lines that I accepted the inevitable mortality of men, but that didn't mean I would willingly put myself into situations were death was more than just a minor occurrence of chaos theory happening.

But then again, my cowardice had been a thing when I hadn't been put into situations where death was an actual end result of some random variable, a lucky arrow catching me in an exposed area. Some guy landing a lucky hit on me. Things like that.

In other words, when it came to comforting people, I had no idea how to go about it other than the usual automatic age old words of 'I'm sorry.' But I don't think it would have cut it out in this particular situation.

Especially considering that I also blamed myself for how Jaehaerys' death came about.

So I tried to make some kind of small talk. I'm British. Small talk was our thing.

"How are you holding up?" I asked and realised that this line of questioning did not lead to small talk and cursed to myself.

Rhaella breathed in deeply, "I'm fine Aerys. I have had time to heal. You don't have to worry after me."

Or maybe this was actually going well, "I'm your brother," I replied, "It's my job to worry about you."

She glanced at me for the longest moment from the corner of her eyes without turning her head, "You certainly have changed Aerys. I would never have thought to hear those words coming out of your mouth."

Had it been that bad before I came along?

"I would at the very least like to think that we had our good times." More than the bad ones at the very least.

"More bad than good." She said, smiling thinly, "More bad, but there was still some good ones that graced the bad."

I laughed sheepishly and awkwardly. Apparently, Aerys had been that bad before I came along.

We soon reached the maester's office, just across the hall from the one we had come from.

"I need to ask you something Aerys."

"Hm?"

"The fire, it had nothing to do with you, did it?"

I could have tripped. I could have fallen face flat into the floor. I didn't, and I deserved an award for that because that completely caught me off guard, "That fire was nothing more than the result of sabotage by the Blackfyres." Why was she asking me this? Didn't she know the public story? The Blackfyres did it! "You know this."

She ignored me as she continued to speak, "Then this had nothing to do with your dealings with the Alchemists? I saw the fire itself Aerys. I saw from where it started. How the night sky had been illuminated green. I saw it Aerys."

"I..." I faltered, "Didn't mean too. An accident. Honestly. I told those idiots to be careful. I really did. I didn't think of what would happen if something happened. I'd have thought those idiots would know better, but I guess not. I had them running experiments and creating things for me that would have helped us in the long term. Me, you every lord and lady, even the common man and woman and child in the realm. Honestly, it was an accident. None of that was supposed to happen."

"Then father died because of you." She left me then, before I could come up with some sort of defence on my behalf.

Watching her leave, with her own white shadow I could only accomplish a half-hearted response to her accusation, "It was an accident!"


	20. Chapter 20

**xXx**

I have no idea what the fuck I am doing.

I try to convince my self that I know what I'm doing, but who am I kidding? No-one. Not even myself. I was blindly stumbling in the dark, occasionally hitting something, tripping and falling or worse, stubbing my little toe and spasming in pain from the results.

I had a general idea of what I wanted to do, and that was to survive the icepocalypse that was coming in forty years time. I was trying to ignore the fact that me being here, doing my random things or even just by my presence alone might result in said icepocalypse not happening in forty years time but sooner than I'd rather wish (if anything, I was hoping it would be later. Like later. When I'm dead by natural causes at the age of 117).

That was basically it.

Somehow survive the Long Night 2.0, along the way, do things that might make people question my sanity, but at the same time, ingratiate myself to the masses so much that people who didn't particularly like me and wanted me dead would at the very least, take a moment to pause and think 'Is this really worth it?'

In other words, survive long enough to reach Long Night 2.0 and then after reaching that milestone goal, survive the new milestone goal that had been set out.

I was thinking long term which was good, I suppose, but I wasn't thinking of how each of my little things I was working on would affect said long term goal.

For example the alchemists and the disaster that had happened to King's Landing.

Coming upon a scene of devastation the like that I had come across had made me stop and not think more along the prudent question of 'How did this happen?' I would have investigated, but fire has a habit of destroying evidence like nobodies business, even more so when it's magic napalm.

I had my suspicions to the whole fire thing now that I had been given time to not wallow in my own self pity and general angsting about said incident.

You would be suprised to the level of clarity milk of the poppy can give you. Yeah, sure, it addles your mind a little to deal with whatever pain you are dealing with, but eventually, you start thinking and thinking and eventually, you start connecting dots as you find most of your worries gone.

That stuff was fantastic.

Need to make sure I don't get addicted. I doubt I was the functional addict type.

But I really couldn't act without any sort of evidence as my main suspects all happened to be ridiculously connected and influential in one way or another. That sort of put me into a pickle.

Well, I had time, and if there's one thing that the humans of Westeros shared with the humans back home is that man, can we hold a grudge. And I was going to hold this one and nurse it for all it's worth.

That didn't mean my bumbling about should continue. That needed to stop.

So in that regard, I decided to at least come up with goals that added a little more information to my basic plan of surviving the Long Night 2.0.

Point one. White Walkers are real and are a pain to kill. Why? Because only two recorded elements have in story verification of killing them, obsidian and Valyrian steel. In other words, I needed to stark stock piling on said items like it was nobodies business.

Thankfully, Dragonstone had a lot of the obsidian that could be mined and fashioned into suitable weapons, arrowheads, daggers, maybe even swords of some kind. Valyrian steel was a bit more difficult, there probably was some more in the Doom, but...the Doom.

The tv series had touched on Valyria, but if I remember correctly, in the books, the Doom was very different and people stayed well the fuck away from that place.

I know for a fact magic is a thing, so whatever happened to Valyria could very well be magical in nature or the result of the Fourteen Fires going boom. So I'm either dealing with magic bullshit or the toxin gasses of erupted volcanoes or some unholy combination of both.

In other words, I was very undecided on what to do about that. I was personally not going to step anywhere near that place because, reasons, but I could probably find a group of people insane enough to at the very least, test out the toxin gases part of the theory.

Just need to somehow getting a working hazmat suit or a gas mask or something. I had time (probably) and there was always the Valyrian steel that already existed in Essos that I could acquire through...extra-legal means.

Hey, I needed it more than they probably did.

Point two. Wights are not your typical zombies and head shot-ing them does jack shit.

Fire is the way to go and thus, it's actually quite prudent and a good idea to see if something resembling a flame-thrower can be built. Loads and loads of them, because I had the feeling the Wights were going to be the most frequent thing we were going to face.

I wonder, does blowing them up to bits also work? Eh whatever, won't know until we find out so yeah, grenades, the explosive and incendiary kind would also very much be appreciated to be developed.

Point three. The state of the Night's Watch is atrocius. Need to do something about that. No current ideas at the moment apart from the usual that they actually need men that were vastly not rapists, murderers and the likes.

I can probably think of something.

Point four. Probably the most difficult one to see some sort of feasible solution but was somehow get any and all willing wildlings south of the fucking Wall. I don't need dead wildlings adding numbers to the army of the undead because that would suck.

The White Walkers and their army already has us beat in how easily they can get new recruits among many other things.

Oh, somehow try and get people to actually start burning bodies now instead of burying them. Like I said, the White Walkers have it easy as it easy on replacing their man power.

This one is probably my most politically suicidal plan and thus, I would need a lot of favours to call upon. In other words, I better start holding to my favours like I was Tywin Lannister nursing a slight.

Point five. Have a back-up plan.

Like seriously, as a just in case the Wall falls or some shit like that.

Secondary defensive line on the neck? Maybe doable, would need to find someone who knows about the place and ask some questions.

Third defensive line in the Red Mountains? Once again, need to find someone who actually has more military sense than me to find out.

Right, I doubt Dorne would be able to support a large influx of refugees like that and I should also think of having the necessary infrastructure and support to keep the refugees moving in case shit happens.

And if all that fails, let the White Walkers have Westeros. I can just bugger myself and my family to the Summer Islands or something. Probably wouldn't do morale all that good if their king high tails it, but whatever, there's only so much that I can do. If White Walker victory seems inevitable, might as well not bother anymore.

But in all respect, five is a last resort. Honest.

Thus with my five point plan that I was probably going to add to if I think of something, this was why I had essentially made sure that I was glued to Egg whenever he went about his kingly duties and oversaw the reconstruction efforts of King's Landing.

King's Landing had suffered it's equivalent of the Great Fire of London, but unlike said fire, hundreds of thousands had died.

You know Flea Bottom? Yeah, that was gone.

Flea Bottom was-had been a slum that consisted of closely packed buildings that wouldn't pass any safety standard in a modern world. It was filled with shanties. The streets were narrow and winding. And it was a rare thing indeed to come upon a building made of stone, not that would have stopped the wildfire.

In other words, it was a good a place as any for a fire to spread fast and quickly with minimal help from favourable wind conditions.

The docks was another thing that was high on the list of things that needed to be rebuilt as quickly as possible. Actually, most of the rebuilding effort was being concentrated on the docks.

It sort of made sense. We needed to bring in building materials and it was cheaper to transport them by sea rather than land, and our heavily damaged docks sort of limited the amount of material that we could bring in.

That, and the fact that House Targaryen got quite a good chunk of revenue from the import tariffs that were brought in. If it wasn't for the fact that we had to spend most of our monies in the daily running of a government and continent, I'm sure we would probably be as rich as the Lannisters from the amount of trade that came in.

So one of our primary income sources was stunted and sea trade traffic had to be redirected towards Duskendale. In other words, the Darklyns now had the opportunity to get filthy rich very quickly if they play their cards right.

They were probably thanking the Seven or something for this turn of fortune.

Back in King's Landing though, we had something of a housing problem. Half the city was charcoal and rubble and stone and that meant thousands had no place to live. So outside the city walls were there was space, more and more shanties were coming into existence.

Probably not the healthiest thing considering diseases and all that.

There was something we could do, and Egg had given the greenlight on the project, but the details were for later when it was actually up and running.

On the other hand, my attention had been taken by a task I had found myself not all that versed in, in that of an urban planner.

"...Rebuilding the docks is our primary concern at the moment, so that means there will be less builders and the likes for the rest of you." I looked around the table as we hovered over a map of King's Landing that fit around the entirety of the table, "But that doesn't stop us from at least making some head way in rebuilding the homes and shops that were lost in the fire."

I had no idea what I was doing. I was no urban planner. Then it was a good thing that there was a maester in the attendance of the masons and builders that were involved in this little get together.

Said maester, I never caught his name, moved his fingers around the destroyed parts of the city, "Wider roads for starters. From what I understood, the fire spread quickly through Flea Bottom because the streets were narrow, winding with no real planning insight. The buildings were too close to each other, allowing the flames to jump from one source of fuel to another easily."

I snapped my fingers in the direction of the youthful looking maester, "What he said. But before we can get into the rebuilding in earnest, there's another matter we have to see to first."

One of the masons, a guild leader or something I think looked up, "Your Grace, what could be so urgent to forestall the rebuilding of this magnificent city."

Was he serious or was he trying to kiss ass?

I just ignored it either way, "This magnificent city stunk. And as horrible a tragedy that was caused by the Blackfyres, some might say that from the ashes, a better, cleaner city could be built. One that didn't stink." I nodded in the direction of the maester who had been briefed on the subject to begin giving the first little details.

He cleared his throat and started speaking, "Back when King's Landing was still nothing but a babe, Aegon had decreed that his seat be built in a sustainable manner. That decree was followed well enough as the city grew through the reigns of Aenys, Maegor and Jaehaerys. King Jaehaerys improved on that decree by having a sewer system built. That, good sers and prince, is why the area in the shadow of the Red Keep can be considered to be the cleanest and least smelling of King's Landing.

"Unfortunately, unprecedented wealth through the reign of Jaehaerys and from then on attracted an unimaginable number of people to flock to this great city. The sewage system couldn't keep up and whatever sustainable growth that King Aegon the Conqueror had envisioned could not be met as buildings, shops, housing and the likes were thrown up to meet the new influx of people. Until eventually, King's Landing came to be the city that you all know."

One of the older gentleman in the meeting nodded, "So in other words, before we begin the building of housing, we need to rebuild the sewage system and build upon that to meet the demands of half a million souls?"

I nodded, "Exactly so, ser."

He grimaced, "That will be a tall task, my prince."

"Do it, and the rewards shall be worth it. Especially the greatest of rewards from this."

He raised an eyebrow, curious, "And that is?"

"Actually be able to breathe in fresh air instead of the stink of half a million souls."

Chuckles went throughout the room at that. The meeting continued from there. The builders were introduced to the idea of a apartment complex of varying designs that could hold quite a huge number of people.

That should save space.

The finer details were worked out. Which people would get to begin their work where, and how many builders they had available considering the vast majority of the building strength was concentrated at the docks.

Some said that more than likely, workers and masons among others from the other settlements in the crownlands or from further abroad might come looking for work in the future. There was no definite number, but it was said that the earliest trickle were beginning to make themselves known ever since the news spread and the call was made.

Having done that, we said our pleasantries and went our separate ways. In my case, I went to my family.

Here is a fun note. I was a trend setter or some kind of fashion setter or something.

Slow at first, I noticed that some of the guild leaders that had been in attendance and then from me moving through the castle, I noticed that trousers with zips were now a thing among the more affluent populace. I think even saw some blazers and waist coats thrown in their for good measure.

Nice to know that I was making more of an impact than I thought.

Through the help of some castle servants, I found Branda in the castle godswood. And she wasn't alone, not that I had been expecting her to be alone in the first place.

They were seated in the shade of the castle Heart Tree which wasn't exactly a proper Heart Tree. I wondered if there was something I could do about that.

There was Branda and in held lovingly in her arms was my daughter, Dany or Daenerys if you want to be technical. I was still calling all kinds of bullshit at that. There was something afoot here and I didn't know whether to like it or not.

Jenny of Oldstones was also in attendance along with her own bundle that held her son and my cousin, Daeron. Quiet kid that, don't think I've ever heard him cry or scream or anything. Most of the time, I'm sure that he was busy sleeping away to the world.

I winced slightly at the last person in attendance that was in the form of my sister, Rhaella. Ever since that particular day that I had returned, things had been civil between us, but that was it. In hindsight, I probably should have lied through my teeth or something, but maybe that could have made things worse.

I don't know.

Hindsight was 20/20 after all.

Rhaella wasn't cold neither was she warm with me. Just neutral.

I have no idea how to make heads or tails out of it.

Jenny was the first one to spot me as I made my approach towards them. She smiled as she greeted me, "Prince Aerys." She made to rise, but I stopped her.

"No, please don't." I said with a raised hand, "I don't want to disturb the babe. How is my favourite cousin today?"

Jenny smiled slyly, "'Favourite'? How will Steffon take to that?"

"Like a grown man. He's old enough." My worries and thoughts went out to my cousin still fighting in the Stepstones. I needn't have worried, the little bastard was busting heads and making a name for himself.

He had yet to get his hands on the Blackfyre that he really wanted to kill, but that was probably for the better. Steffon was good. But anyone that was able to kill Lord Ormund should be stayed well clear unless you were about as badass as Lord Ormund had been.

Someone like Duncan, Ser Gerold, Ser Harlan, Roger Reyne (His name had been mention quite a few times in the dispatches) and the likes. Even then, it would be better to shoot him with a crossbow and be done with it.

And speaking of Steffon, I couldn't forget Tywin and apparently, him and his brothers were making a good accounting of themselves. Here's a funny thing, Tygett Lannister, Tywin's brother, was squired to Roger Reyne.

I know I shouldn't but I found that hilarious. His brother was squired to the person that Tywin hated with a burning passion. Gods, Tytos was doing all he could just to screw himself wasn't he? Tygett was about as good as a hostage in case anything happened.

"Done with your business today?" Rhaella asked, as civil and pleasant as she could.

I nodded, "Most, but not all. Was just talking to the builders about the reconstruction efforts." I took a seat beside my lady wife and peered down at the bundle she was holding, "It's mostly concetrated on the docks, but give it time, we'll be building houses and the likes soon enough."

As I peered down into the bundle, lavender coloured eyes filled with all kinds of mirth looked back up to me. She must have recognised me or something, because those eyes sparkled. Never could understand the attraction about babies, but I had to admit, this one was alright by my books.

"Including these 'apartment complexes' of yours?" My sister questioned.

"Yeah." I answered simply enough, dropping a finger in front of Dany's face. Her own little hands made a grab for mine and started playing with it, "Sort of like an inn room, but bigger and probably fit entire families if we get it right. A good way to save space if you have little of it." I think. I was just talking out of my ass.

I think I had a point though.

She shook her head, "I have to admit, you've been surprising people ever since you came back from the north. What have you done to him, Branda?" She finished, mirthfully glancing at her goodsister.

Branda responded whilst shaking her head, "Nothing. I already assumed that he was already like this."

Already like what though? I mean, I think I was pretty normal, or something.

"He wasn't always like this," My princess sister said, "There was a time he cared for nothing more than skirts."

Hey now Rhaella, let's try not to ruin the mood, could we? I mean, Branda already knew about my pre-insert days, but I doubted this topic could be anything but fun.

"I grew up. We all have to sometime." I interjected and tried to quickly think of a different subject of talk.

Thankfully, it seemed like Jenny didn't care so much for the previous subject as well, "How's your arm? I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience for you." Or maybe she was just used to the relationship dynamic between me and Rhaella.

For anyone who knew us, this was probably nothing new.

I moved my finger away from my daughter and she seemed almost disappointed at having her fun stopped and patted at my now sort of useless arm that rested in a pocket along my waist. In other words, I was doing my best to replicate the hand-in-waist pocket look Napoleon always had on show.

Apparently, if I remembered correctly, it somehow indicated leadership in a calm and firm manner. I was hoping that I was pulling it off.

"The pain comes and goes, but nothing I can't deal with." Nothing a little milk of the poppy can't stop, but like I said, I don't think I was the functional addict type so I tried to take as little as possible. Gyldayn had done as much as he could without chopping my arm off. He had to re-break the bone because it hadn't been set properly and other things. I was in a opiate filled haze for the vast majority of it, "I'm more annoyed that I have to learn to use my left hand to write, draw among other things more than anything else."

"Really? Not that you'll be able to show your bravery on the battlefield?" Rhaella bit.

I held back a sigh and smiled, "Maybe if I strapped a shield or something to my right arm and learned to fight with my left. But that's a long way away." I think she was going to say something, but stopped short of saying it.

And anyway, hopefully, I can change the military thinking of Westeros as well from the leading in the front type to the more leading from the back, alla the Mongols. One of the many reasons they kicked ass was because it was all so rather easy to decapitate the command structure of the European armies they fought simply because the important people tended to be right in front of every single charge.

I could understand that due to the current communication technology why it's important to lead from the front, doesn't mean I didn't have to like it. Well, that was for something for later.

Eventually, Jenny and Rhaella excused themselves, leaving me alone with Branda, our baby and pretty sure that Gwayne was somewhere hanging around. Hidden no doubt, to give me and Branda the illusion of privacy.

It was a bit of a challenge to hold the baby bundle with one hand, but I think I was somehow able to make it work.

"I think we made something rather beautiful." Branda cooed as she dangled her fingers in front of Dany. Like before, Dany made a grab for them, but Branda would just pull them out of her reach.

Like I said, I never did quite understand the appeal of babies. Sure they looked cute, but nothing to coo over. But I liked to think that I was smarter than that to actually voice my opinion on my general attitude towards these little crying machines.

Thank the gods for the wetnurses and bless them for their suffering, "Clearly she took more after her beautiful mother."

Branda did a rather unladylike snort, "Please, I think everyone knows that you are prettier than half the ladies in court."

"But you aren't in that half."

She chuckled, "So this is the legendary charm that Rhaella told me that got you into the skirts of women?" She asked, eyeing me.

I thought about it, "A bit more than that, but sort off. What has Rhaella been saying about me."

"Oh this and that." Branda deflected. I see I was influencing her in more ways than I probably like, "Did something happen between the two of you? She seems more combative than the last time I saw you two talk."

"That? Nothing more than your average sibling banter."

She stopped playing with our child and looked at me, grey eyes that seemed like blue looked at me with a firmness in them, "Aerys," She breathed to me slowly, "Do you think me a fool? Something happened between the two of you. You vowed at our wedding that your secrets were mine and mine yours. So tell me."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

She crossed her arms, "Try me."

I sighed and looked around the godswood. We seemed alone, apart from Gwayne who was probably hiding somewhere, or prowling or something. I ushered her closer and began to whisper into her ear, "Well, Rhaella thinks me responsible for the fire that killed our father and destroyed half the city...which is probably true. I do think I hold some of the responsibility, but probably not in the way that she is probably thinking. Probably. I'm no mind reader."

Branda blinked for a moment, "You? Responsible?" Then she blinked again and grimaced, "You were sponsoring the Alchemists." I nodded and she shook her head, "Why would you involve yourself with that lot?"

I sighed again and ushered her closer. She leaned in and again, I whispered into her ear to lessen the chances of being overheard by someone that shouldn't be overhearing anything, "I think the maester's not all, but some, are involved in this someone. I don't know how, but I'm sure of it. The relationship between the Alchemists' and the Citadel isn't at all positive."

She scrunched her nose, "Why would the maester's care about you sponsoring the Alchemists?" She asked quietly.

I thought about it for a moment and wondered if I was going to regret this. She had a point, I had made a vow to keep no secrets from her and at the very least, I think someone once said that a healthy marriage was built on honesty.

Actually, I think that applied to any relationship.

And considering trust was a rare commodity in Westeros, having someone that I could wholeheartedly trust like my wife wasn't such a bad thing. Equal partners and all that.

And then, I decided.

Ushering her closer once more, I enlightened Branda to all the conspiracy theories about the Citadel that I could remember from the Internet. Hopefully, by the end of it, she wouldn't look at me as if I was some sort of insane moron.

Yes, I suspected the maesters. It made sense when I finally had the chance to think about it.

What I still don't get is what exactly was their end game? Stop me from sponsoring the Alchemists? Destroying nearly half a city seemed a bit too extreme just for that.

So I couldn't help but wonder exactly what their angle was. 

**xXx**


	21. Chapter 21

**XxX**

"The lads found the place completely by accident. They had been wondering around and not doing the actual work they are being paid to do, going to have to punish them for that." The foreman grumbled as he led me through the shadows of the Dragon Pit.

"Not too harshly, I hope." I replied, stemming a yawn that had threatened to escape from my throat. It was early in the morning and I didn't do mornings, but apparently, this was important or something to have a member of royalty check it out.

The foreman bobbed his head up and down as he nodded, "Not too harshly, but I can't be seen to reward laziness, Y'Grace."

"No. I suppose you can't." Unless nepotism was involved. Or gold. There was a load of ways that laziness could be rewarded if one was enterprising enough.

The Dragon Pit once upon a time had a roof. Once upon a time, it had been dome shaped, but somewhere in time, the said roof collapsed, bringing thousands of tonnes of stone and glass crashing down to the ground.

A good thing then that by the time that had happened, the Targaryens didn't have so much as a single dragon left to house in the building. Other wise, this would have been an excellent way to test out how durable the dragons were.

Also, the glass made it a good point to wear sturdy, tough boots unless I wanted to cut the sole of my feet on something sharp and dirty and potentially lose said foot. Nothing is more a motivator than the fear of catching some unknown exotic, medieval, fantastic disease to actually make sure that you are dressed properly for the situation.

The Pit was vast that it felt like I had been led through the building for what seemed like eternity. It made sense. Dragons were big. They never stopped growing according to lore, so making sure that their home was big made so that they can continue growing that the environment didn't affect their size or anything like that.

Of course the Targaryens later learned that this wasn't a thing since the dragons, born and raised in the Pit never did grow to the size of pre-Pit dragons. I was more surprised that they continued with the practice and that no-one actually noticed anything wrong with this.

"Here we are, Y'Grace." The foreman eventually said, stopping shot of a hole that suddenly appeared on the floor.

Taking a look around, I noticed that the walls were scorched black with soot and in some places, had actually melted. Wow, did the wildfire make all of it's way up here? How did I not see that?

There was a couple of guardsmen standing around along with some workers that were busy fastening ropes to a nearby pillar. Ropes that were then thrown down the hole and I realised that for some reason, we would be going down there.

"How did this happening?" I asked, walking as close to the hole as possible. I had a thing against heights and the size of the Pit sort of made me question the size of it's basement or whatever passed for a basement down there.

The foreman began explaining, helping him out was how he pointed towards the large now noticeable section of the Dragon Pit that had been melted down to nothing more than molten rock and cooled by time, "The fucking pigshit, pardon me language Y'Grace, came through o'er there, burned it's way through the walls and into the pit in general. It spread across the floor, melting as it does, weakening it, in more places than others."

I slowly took a moment to step carefully away from the hole. Now that I was actually looking at said floor, I can see that it was a dried, slurry mixture of glass and rock.

"So your men were just wondering about and then just fell through that hole that appeared beneath their feet?"

The foreman bobbed his head, "Aye, Y'Grace." He stamped at the floor and made my heart jump, "Damned lucky the buggering morons are still alive. Came out with a couple of broken bones, but nothing that time and a good rest won't heal."

Warily watching the man's foot, I held back a sigh of relief when he stopped the stamping, "Did they see what was down there then?"

"Aye, Y'Grace. Said they couldn't see all that well because of the dark, but they recognised what they saw."

"And what did they see?"

He looked at me, wonder in his eyes, "Dragons, Y'Grace." He breathed out, "They saw dragons." 

**xXx**

The moment that I stepped out of my personal office, Luceon was right beside me, appearing from nowhere. For those not in the know, Luceon was the one in charge of rebuilding King's Landing in a reasonable manner.

In other words, he was the maester from before. I only got around to knowing his name when I figured I might as well know it because I was going to deal with him for the foreseeable future.

His maester's chain was clinking with each and every step that he took as he spoke, "Your Grace, there is a matter I must speak with you about urgently."

"Does it have to be now? I promised to have lunch with my lady wife and daughter." Got to spend time with the family. Build those bridges and what not.

"It's about the sewers." He said, pulling out a rolled up scroll of paper from his grey robe. On the move, he unrolled it and held it out in front of him, "And about those bath houses you want to implement."

I realised I probably needed to hear this. No point in trying to build a clean city that didn't stink if there was going to be a problem with the sewers and the bath houses.

"What is it?" I asked, having the courtesy to stop and give the youthful man a break.

"It's more so about the bath houses than the sewers." He stared at something on the parchment of paper in front of him, "We can easily divert some water from the Blackwater Rush to wash away the muck from the pipes and into the Bay, but it's the bath houses that are proving to be a problem."

I nodded and wrapped my head around what he was telling me. The sewers were going to accrue quite the yield of shit on a daily basis, and thus, to stop blockages, it was best that they were washed away. Thankfully, we already had a fast flowing river nearby that could be diverted to flow some water that could wash away said shit into the Blackwater Bay.

Apparently, flowing all your shit into the sea was standard practice and I couldn't really think of a suitable alternative that didn't involve that, so I gave the green light. In the future though, if I was going to have any sort of fish, I was going to make sure that it was thoroughly cleaned.

"So the sewers are fine then?" I asked and Luceon gave me a nod, "Then what's the problem with the bath houses?"

The maester licked his lips, "Water needs to be supplied to the bath houses, but it can't be unclean water like that of the Rush."

Well, that was obvious enough. The Blackwater Rush was many things, clean it was not.

Oh.

So there was the problem. The Rush wasn't clean enough to be used as clean water suitable for bathing.

I crossed my arms and hummed in thought, "That is a problem." Luceon nodded his head in agreement with that little statement of mine before I tried to think of something, "Where does our clean water come from then?"

"There's several wells located in the King's Landing locale that the locals use and the more affluent residents of the city pipe it into their homes."

I blinked, huh, I have always wondered where the water that I regularly bathed in came from, having never seen anything close to a well around the castle grounds. Guess I had to give some credit to the locals, they weren't all lacking in some areas.

"So can't we use the water from those wells?"

"Not in the quantity that would be required for the daily running of such large institutions."

Hm, that was a problem. I tried to think of something but got nothing, "Any suggestions?"

Luceon nodded as he pulled another scroll out of the sleeves of his grey coat. I wondered what else exactly he was keeping in there.

This time, it was a map and he pulled it out. It was a map of the crownlands and he tapped on one particular spot on the map.

The Wendwater.

"I think if we built an aqueduct of the like of the sweetwater river of the Braavosi, we would be able to bring in water from the Wendwater directly to King's Landing to meet the demands of the bath houses."

An aqueduct? Sounds like a fun idea, but by the looks of things, this meant building something that was more than likely going to be quite long. Like a couple hundred of miles long.

...Were aqueducts even supposed to be that long?

Still though, "What makes you think this river is going to be any cleaner than the Rush?"

"No, no," Luceon shook his head, "We won't be directing water from the river itself, but from the source. The Wendwater begins at a narrow lake in the southern Kingswood. Unlike most rivers, this one is supplied by an underground source that continues to deposit clean water, drinkable water at that, into the lake that then proceeds to flow into the Bay."

Huh, neat. There was just one problem with this.

"I don't think the Wendwaters would like it if we just infringed on their water rights like that."

Luceon had the decency to act at the very least, sheepish, "No, no they wouldn't."

I sighed and rubbed at the bridge of my nose, "Alright. Plan for the aqueduct. Materials needed, possible cost, all that. I will have a raven dispatched to the Wendwaters, inviting them for talks. Perhaps we can work something out."

The maester nodded his head and rolled up his papers before quickly running of to his offices and making a start on his new task. I might be more wary of the maesters, but I had to agree, damned where they useful sometimes and some of them even more than eager when it came to their duties.

I don't think I'll be making it to that lunch with Branda and the baby.

Pulling aside a clerk, I quickly had him run off to deliver my heartfelt apologies to my wife as I returned to my office to at least try to make a start on a letter that was probably going to be begging the Wendwaters to let me mooch of their valuable water rights.

I wasn't looking forward to any of the dealing and politicking that was going to be involved. 

xXx

When I wasn't too busy discovering the mausoleums of long forgotten dragons and thinking of ways to profit of the highly valuable nature of dragon bones in general, or even when I wasn't involved in the rebuilding efforts of King's Landing, Egg took a moment to let me shadow him as he went about running his empire.

Because at the end of the day, that was what the Seven Kingdoms were, an empire. Egg was the emperor and the Great Houses were the kings or in Dorne's case, princess, they took their marching orders from.

Well, in theory anyway. It was a whole lot more complicated than that.

Back in the days, when we had dragons, if a Targaryen asked you to jump, you asked how high, other wise, you had a good chance to catch an affliction better known as 'death by dragon fire' and nobody wanted that.

Frankly, I liked to think that Aegon, despite all the good he did by uniting Westeros underneath one authority, could have done a whole lot more than he had done during his time as king. The Iron Throne, Jaehaerys' codification of the laws of the land and a barely maintained road wasn't much of a legacy considering everything else that they could have honestly done.

In my own humble opinion which was highly supported by outside context knowledge all the way through, I think Aegon half-assed it. Simple as it is.

He could have done far more and half the troubles that plagued Westeros could have solely been avoided if he had only, you know, married one of his sisters instead of both. I would really like to know what he was thinking at the time.

Just so I could wrap my head around that insanity.

But that was neither here nor there.

Following Egg around pretty much told me what I already knew. The Iron Throne was the highest power in the realm, but it was dependent on the support of his lords. Most of the time, if Egg wanted something from someone, he had to give something in return.

Fuck that.

If I was going to be king, when I want something, I better well have it without having to give a concession unless it was damn well worth it.

Still though, I learned quite a few things underneath his tutelage and actually learned some of his policies that the nobles never liked. Arbitrary courts were not a thing from what I could remember in the books, but somehow, Egg had been able to recognise the closest thing to such courts.

If a dispute or something along them lines was raised between guilds or even among merchants, they would take it to the closest thing they had to a arbitral tribunal. And in a remarkable level of civility that I would not have expected from anybody in Westeros, whatever decisions that were met in said tribunal would actually be held to.

Seriously.

Before Egg recognised these informal tribunals as legitimate, people actually followed the decisions that had been made by these tribunals. That was mind blowing.

Well, until some random lordling came along and ruined that. Before Egg decreed them as legitimate, if a dispute was solved between two people, guilds, merchants and anybody else who benefited from such a thing as rule of law made an effort to enforce such decisions.

If one of the disputees didn't follow the decision, more often than not, they would find themselves blacklisted so badly, they would find themselves ruined or have to move to another region just to make a living. And even then, that was dubious at best.

Of course, that was among themselves. Pesky little rules and codes of conduct between the smallfolk and commoners mattered little to the lords that were above such little things.  
Considering the general Westerosi nobility disdain for anything involving finance and running any sort of business, I was rather befuddled as to why some lordlings would go out of their way to ruin such civil things. Even if breaking said decisions resulted in an economic blow back on them.

I just didn't get it and stopped bothering to actually get it.

There was just some things that were beyond me.

Egg was smiling, I don't know why, but Egg was smiling. If I didn't know any better, I would say that my grandfather was close to bursting out in laughter, "Aerys!" He got up to his feet rather quickly that I was momentarily worried about those aging bones of his, "Come, come. Read this."

He handed out a letter in my direction and I took it off him the moment I was close enough. Reading it through, I skimmed some parts so I misread some of it. Re-reading it turned out that I hadn't so much as misread as much as I thought.

I cracked a smile, "We won?"

Egg snorted, "Of course we won." He walked around from his side of the table to come to stand in front of me and placed gentle hands on my shoulders, "It's over. That dreadful war is over and the Blackfyres and their allies have been routed from the field of battle and the Stepstones and back to their holes in Essos. Your grandmother and aunt will more than pleased with the news. Duncan and Steffon will be coming home."

This was good news. This was really good news.

For starters, I now didn't have to worry about the Blackfyres winning and thus having free reign to invade Westeros and make a go to remove the my head along with the rest of my families.

But still though, something was still on my mind. I re-read the letter once more and went through what Egg said before it hit me, "Wait, Maelys isn't dead?"

Egg quirked an eyebrow, "No. I believe a young knight by the name of..." He was quiet for a moment as he thought for a few moments, "Ser Barristan Selmy of Harvest Hall slayed him in single combat."

Good on you, Barry. Seems like some things were keeping to canon.

But wait, there was still that other Blackfyre that should have been dead but was actually still alive because of butterflies of course! How I still influenced that was beyond me.

"There's still Daemon Blackfyre though..." I pointed out slowly and winced. Steffon probably wasn't going to like that one bit.

He had wanted to personally kill that particular Blackfyre.

Egg acknowledged my point with a nod as he held back a grimace that turned at the corner of his lips, "Yes. More than likely, him or his descendants will make another attempt at the Iron Throne in the future. I would have liked for this to have been ended in the Stepstones for the last time, but it seems that Blackfyre rebellions are simply something we must live with."

In other words, I was probably going to be the one that would have to deal with Daemon or whoever took up the Blackfyre caused. But really, I couldn't help but wish them all the luck in the world.

Egg had slandered their name so badly in King's Landing and perhaps throughout the entire Seven Kingdoms that they would have a hard time to get any popular support, especially among the populace of King's Landing.

I'm pretty sure Blackfyre was now a by-word for a curse or something among the smallfolk.

As long as it wasn't my name, that was fine with me.

"At least you have to admit that these Blackfyres are persistent." I praised them. Had to give them some recognition for the sheer determination. That enough was worthy of some praise at the very least.

The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms laughed a little, "At the end of it all, their persistency might very well be the end of them. By now, at the very least, they could have tried to eke out a living of their own somewhere in Essos."

I nodded my head in agreement, "To be honest, if they wanted to be kings so much, I never understood why they never took one of the Free Cities for themselves."

Egg raised an eyebrow, "Doing that would have turned all of the Free Cities against them. As storied as the Golden Company is, they are not that good to take on the might of all the Free Cities."

"Okay, maybe not one of the Free Cities, but one of the other places in Essos. Essos just doesn't consist of the Free Cities." I pointed out. There was Slaver's Bay and the bullshit that happened there.

I'm pretty sure there was a bunch of places in Essos that they could have carved out a kingdom for themselves, but hey, honour before reason and all that.

"Mayhaps, but that is neither nor there. All that matters is that this is finally over. That this bloody chapter of our family can finally be closed."

That was true. A bloody chapter indeed. Written in the blood of friends and family.

Just another day in Westeros then.


	22. Chapter 22 - The Wolf Princess

**xXx**

 **The Wolf Princess**

The sounds of working men surrounded her. They had started at dawn and continued working through the day, taking sparse few moments to take a moment to rest and eat, then continuing on with their work.

It had been three moons, or months as her husband preferred to say, when the fire had raged through King's Landing, driving a fiery, green wade of destruction through half the city. The destruction had been enough to make one take a moment and pause, for Branda herself, this had been the first time since she had seen such destruction on such a scale.

And in the place that she had begun to call home.

Yes, King's Landing would never replace the special place Winterfell had in her heart, even with all of it's colour and noise that Winterfell couldn't even compete against, but this was going to be her home nonetheless.

From here, her lord husband, in the future would then rule the Seven Kingdoms from this very city.

That night, seeing flames of green and fiery red dance through the darkness had made her pause. Then seeing the aftermath of the fire had wondered whether rebuilding the city was even remotely possible.

It seemed her doubts and pessimism was unfounded.

The people of King's Landing had rallied to their king and had thrown themselves into the rebuilding efforts. The docks, such a major industry of the city had been destroyed that it had been predicted it would take nearly a year all round of continuous work to repair and rebuild to the original standard now resembled something more of a dock of such a large city.

A dock that was large enough to finally be able to meet the requirements of docking ships that carried the heroes from the war.

Of course, just because they had been made respectable did not mean that they could hold the sufficient amount of volume that was needed. Only the lords, knights and men that had distinguished themselves in the fighting would have the honour of landing in the capital and making their way to the Red Keep to be given honours for their show of valour in defence of the realm.

Father, Brandon and Benjen better be among that lot. She thought. Benjen had made more than a few boasts about gaining glory and honour among the battlefield.

Such bragging had also been closely echoed by her own lord father.

In the hearing of hundreds of witnesses. It would be more than a loss of face if they did not live up to their words. She sometimes wished that at the very least, some of her family took less of the wolfs blood that ran strongly in their blood.

She almost cracked a smile at the thought. But we wouldn't be Starks without that blood.

"May I enquire as to what you find so amusing?"

Branda was knocked out of her thoughts by the question. She turned her head to look upon the rider next to her. Her goodaunt, Jenny of Oldstones.

She smiled, "Nothing more than shaking my head at men and their willingness to brag about their accomplishments or deeds that they have yet to commit."

Jenny laughed, "I admit, I have heard many a man do that, but not all. I don't think I've heard Duncan or your own lord husband do that."

Branda could very well have rolled her eyes out at that. Prince Duncan was nothing more than the picture of a perfect prince in all manners. Something about him, whether it was how he spoke, how he handled himself, anything, was enough to inspire people to trust him.

As her lord father had once told her, Duncan was the sort of man, other man would willingly follow.

Her husband didn't disappoint, but she was more of the mind that Aerys didn't boast simply because he didn't want people holding his own boasting against him if he failed to living up to his own words.

"Some men are smarter than others to keeping their own thoughts and deeds to themselves. I can respect that."

Branda was close with her good-aunt. The two of them shared more in common than she did with most of the ladies in court.

Jenny mostly kept to herself and shunned most of the pointless opulence of the royal court, much like how she shunned such frivolities as well. She would have gladly wanted nothing to do with any of that, but Queen Betha had wisely told her the importance of such things.

"You might very well not like some of the pointless characteristics of the court," Queen Betha had laughed mirthfully then. "Me and Egg dislike much of it. But these things are important in their own way. For example, the jewels and clothing that one wears can convey a thousand words that cannot be conveyed through speech alone in half the time."

Her interest had been piqued then as she helped the queen in her duties. "Such as?"

"A lady that wears a mother of pearl necklace the size of a pigeon's egg tells us that she is rich or that her House is of considerable wealth to afford such luxuries. Such a little thing might give a moment's pause to any parties that wish to act against or with said lady's House in their intrigue." She then smiled without any hint of mirth then. "Wealth by itself, is a measure of power. After all, having power means you have the means to acquire wealth. The two are not mutually exclusive."

Whether she disagreed with much of her new surroundings, she had to immerse herself in it nonetheless.

In her time in the capital and in her spending around the court, she had learned two constants. The royal court and the nobles who attended it do love their gossiping as much as they love their games of intrigue.

She couldn't really understand what was so half interesting about how allegedly, Lady Jeyne Crabb was busy rutting with a handsome stable boy.

Branda didn't even know who Lady Jeyne Crabb even was or why she would be so important.

And as a future queen, it was unfortunately her lot in life to smile and laugh and gossip along with these fools and lickspittles. Thankfully, her good-family was of a different breed and very much allowed her to truly enjoy herself without having to hear about barely realistic stories that have been exaggerated over time.

Of course, Rhaella had told her that such gossips sometimes held a sliver of truth of some kind in their telling. And that sometimes, as rare as it was, such gossip could prove useful in some manner when it is time to be used against an opponent.

Beside her, Jenny sighed, "It will be good to have Duncan back. Daeron has missed his father and I'm sure the same for Duncan for his son."

Branda then realised that she had been lucky. Lucky that Dany had her father beside her so soon after her birth despite a war being fought. How many fathers were away from their children? And how many of those fathers would ever get the chance to hold those children again?

"He's grown so big." She smiled as images of the young lordling came to mind, waddling about the castle ground beside his mother. She leaned in the direction of her good-aunt, a sly smile on her face, "Think Duncan would be able to recognise him when he sees him?"

"I would hope so. He has his eyes."

They laughed quietly among themselves as they rode back towards the Red Keep in a route that had been specifically chosen so that the returning victorious warriors would spend as little time as possible in the damaged part of the city and into the still presentable part of the city that had not been touched by the fire. Reconstruction had also been redirected to this route, so it was far more frequent to see standing houses or buildings, made of wood, not the stone or mixture of both that she had seen common when she had first come to King's Landing.

This was still better than nothing.

Reconstruction could have been faster, but with the works at the dock, and her husband insisting on improving upon the sewage and drains system of the city, only the foundations of buildings had been marked out before any building was erected.

Of course, this had angered some, but temporary shelters had been built outside the city walls for the homeless to take shelter in. Others had also been redirected to a supposed new town that was slowly being erected further down the Rush by the order of the king.

She didn't know the full details, but rumours about this new town had been making it's way round the court as soon as people had come to learn about it. Some said that it was supposed to be a new seat for the royal family. Others disagreed and thought that it was to serve as nothing more than a quiet town for the Targaryens to retreat to if they ever want to take a moment away from the chaos of the capital.

Of course, that was only some of the rumours that she had heard. There were dozens more, some even completely and utterly absurd to even consider nothing less than the fanciful thinking of madman.

When they made their way back to the Red Keep, she had set out to find her daughter. Upon finding her daughter, she also found Aerys with her in his office.

Aerys was busy playing with Dany that he never noticed her entering his office. Smiling at the scene in front of her, she decided not to disturb, but instead went to his desk to look upon what he was working on.

It seemed that he was less working on anything and more practicing. She frowned as she picked up a piece of paper and looked upon the uneven, chaotic scribbling etched upon it.

"Why do you force yourself so?" She eventually asked, holding up the piece of paper.

Aerys nearly jumped at her suddenly speaking, turning quickly to face her. His eyes blinked in recognition before he spoke, "Don't you knock?"

She smirked, "Why? What have you to hide?"

He smiled at that, picking up Dany in his arms. "Force myself to what?" He asked her.

She waved the piece of paper, "This. You can't write with your right hand anymore. Don't torture yourself like this."

Maester Gyldayn had cursed the incompetent fool that had set Aerys' arm after it had been rebroken by the pirate lord that had captured him. According to the maester, the bone had been set wrong that it put unnecessary pressure on his muscles that rendered the prince unable to complete any motor actions that needed a degree of finesse involved.

Writing was one of those actions that was beyond Aerys with his right hand now.

His face fell then, "...That's my writing with my left hand."

"Oh." Her eyes glanced back to the piece of paper and she supposed that she could see some effort had been made to at least keep his writing legible and strait. "It's gotten better?" She said, trying to at the very least, pick up his spirits.

He gave a quick laugh then. "You are not very believable." He then proceeded to bounce a giggling Dany in his arms, smiling all the while, "Then again, I have a scribe at hand if I need to actually have things written down."

"Or a stamp." She said, throwing the paper back onto the desk and making her way towards Aerys and her daughter. "Why is it so important that you learn how to write anyway? I know many lords than can neither read nor write and that doesn't impair them in any meaningful way when it comes to the running of their lordly duties."

Aerys shifted some so that she could have a good look at their child. "You would be surprised at how useful simple things such as reading and writing can be. Especially if you are expected to be running seven entire kingdoms and the two spares."

I suppose that would explain his business with the orphanages and the Faith.

Whatever Aerys had done with this supposed printing press of his had given the queen a massive boon in the form of extra hands to help with the running of the many orphanages and charities that she supported. The queen might have laughed and japed at Aerys' attempt at battling corruption among the goldcloaks, but she had been the most grateful when septons and septas became available in their dozens to help her with her duties.

Although like most of the septons and the septas, she had been surprised to learn that they were also teaching many young orphans and street urchins that had been taken in how to read and write.

Branda wasn't oblivious to the plight of the poor and many of the smallfolk. She understood that some lords wrongfully exercised their power and their lordly duties, but even she couldn't wrap her head around why it would be so important for orphans and urchins to have that particular knowledge.

"Do you know who will be honoured in the coming feasts?" She asked, taking her daughter out of his arms and into hers as gently as she could without disturbing the babe.

"I have heard of a few names, but I think it will be more than that."

"Such as?"

"Lord Ormund, Prince Duncan, Lewyn Martell, Barristan Selmy are some of the names that I can call of the top of my head. I'm sure there will be more." Said Aerys as he walked round to his desk and took a seat. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed him frown, before that frown quickly disappeared as she turned on him.

"Don't think I missed that." She told him.

He tried to act innocent and oblivious. "Miss what, my lady?"

"That frown. I saw it. What is it?"

Aerys sighed. "I would like to think that things will calm down for the foreseeable future, but I highly doubt that. There's still that matter I told you about." He leaned back in his chair. "Along with others that I rather unsure as to whether intervene or not."

In her arms, Dany's eye lids were heavy upon her eyes as Branda realised that the babe was tired and would soon be taking her afternoon sleeping. She would soon be have to be placed back in her crib.

But for now, she was interested in what other events was Aerys wondering on whether to intervene. Especially if they stopped him from carrying out the duties that had been given to him. "What could possibly be diverting your attention from the rebuilding of the city? Remember that the rebuilding of the city has been tasked to you. Discontent among the smallfolk about the speed of the reconstruction might be huddled among a small number of the populace, but if it takes any longer, a riot is very likely."

He grimaced slightly before frowning, "I know, but they are going to have to believe and trust in their prince on this...but I will make efforts to at least have more shelters built."

"And the speed of construction increased as well." She suggested.

"Fine, that as well. I can't promise on anything though."

"As long as you put in the effort, and show the people that you are trying, then at the very least, that will quieten down some of the murmurs."

Perhaps she wouldn't be so bad when it came to the time of her being queen. The queen had told her once that Hand of the King might be the realm's premier advisor to the king, but at the end of the day, it was the king's queen that spent the most time at his side.

And thus, had the king's ear.

It would be up to her at the very least, to make sure that her husband and future king was given the best possible advise that she could give.

Such as this, "You should talk to Rhaella."

Aerys blinked in surprise at the sudden turn of subject before his face settled into a more certain expression. "I know. I should. But I don't know how to approach her. Or the subject."

The subject being that Aerys would admit that he had some responsibility to the fire that destroyed King's Landing and killed his princely father among thousands of others, but he would lay the blame at the maesters. He had no evidence and frankly, some of the things that he said about them were simply absurd.

But Aerys had been so sure of it when he had been explaining it to her. About how there as probably a section of the maesters that were out there, willing to destroy or kill anything that had anything associated with magic in Westeros.

How they had killed the remaining Targaryen dragons during the Dance.

And how they had probably been the cause of the fire.

And for what? Because according to him, they probably did not look kindly to him sponsoring the closest order of learned men that could be considered their rivals, the Alchemists' Guild.

"I'm sure you will think of something. Letting this problem fester will do nothing for you now or in the future." She said, persisting with trying to convince him to carry out the action, "Perhaps at the up-coming feast?" She suggested. "Away from any prying ears and wandering eyes. I'm sure there exists such a place in the castle."

Branda had no right to say this, but she thought that the princess had been in mourning too long. Perhaps the feast, with it's sounds and merrymaking would raise the princess up from whatever darkness that she was feeling.

A happier mood that Aerys could take advantage of and broke the subject that had seemed to drive a wedge between the two of them.

Aerys nodded. "I'll try, but I don't think I've ever been of the convincing sort."

She moved forward and took his right hand in hers, an awkward interaction considering she held her babe in her arms. "You convinced me of your worries. I'm sure you can do the same with her."

A lie in truth.

She hadn't been convinced of anything, but Aerys had been so sure of anything.

Unfounded accusations with no evidence were just but a stepping stone away from being unnecessarily paranoid. There was nothing wrong with a small amount of paranoia, but a paranoia that allowed one to see threats and conspiracies when they didn't exist, was not a paranoia that bode well for anyone.

But Aerys was her husband and he was convinced of the guilt of the maesters. At the very least, she might not be able to convince him other wise, but she can keep her eyes on him and stop him from doing something that might very well damage relations between themselves and the Order of Maesters. 

**xXx**


	23. Chapter 23

**xXx**

The Great Hall seated the Iron Throne atop it's dais, with the only way to climb it was through the high and narrow steps. By now, I was positive that I was more than likely in the book verse rather than the tv verse.

Seeing the Iron Throne was more than proof enough.

I could remember seeing the Iron Throne of the TV verse. Not really that impressive considering that the books and the history about said throne said that it was forged from the thousand blades of Aegon's enemies as an eternal monument to how he had thoroughly kicked their asses.

This one though...now this was more like it.

A monstrosity of jagged edges and sharp metal that had the reputation of killing many of the people that sat atop it. In other words, I was standing within the shadow of the most ruthless, infamous kingslayers of all. I doubt even Jaime could have the sheer blood of kings this thing had.

It's raised dais and it's position in front of the stained glass windows allowed the Iron Throne to cast a shadow that stretched as far as it could in the Great Hall. The Hall itself was a cavernous thing, capable of seating up to a thousand people within it's confines. Overlooking the hall were the skulls of the original gangsters Balerion, Vhagar and Meraxes, there very own shadows doing much the same as the Iron Throne into trying and intimidating the people they looked down upon.

Esteemed lords and ladies from across the realm filled the hall from the front to the very back and even in the galleries at the side. The court floor was a little more orderly than the galleries were some of the lesser lords and ladies had jostled for position to see the upcoming ceremony.

As usual in such an occasion, I was dressed to impress. By now, my fashion wouldn't have batted an eye lid to the lords and ladies that habitually called the Red Keep home, but to some of the other nobility that had come far and wide, I must have looked rather odd.

Along with every other lord that had copied my manner of dress.

King Aegon, the Fifth of His Name sat atop the Iron Throne dressed in red samite and black velvet. His simple crown of gold shone in the light of the that was casted through the windows.

A blast of trumpets garnered the attentions of the crowd. "Presenting Prince Duncan Targaryen," the court steward announced at the top of his voice that easily travelled throughout the Great Hall. "Son of His Royal Highness King Aegon Targaryen, Fifth of His Name and Queen Betha Blackwood!"

When Duncan began to make his approach, I had expected that memorable scene of Tywin Lannister riding into the throne room on top his horse, as absurd and stupid as I thought that was. Instead of that, Duncan merely walked the entire length of the hall atop the red carpet as majestically as he could, back up straight and his chin held high.

Duncan crossed the length of the hall in great, strong strides before he came at a stop at the foot of the throne. Egg then rose from his throne and made his way down with the ease of a man that had been walking down on the narrow steps of his throne for more than twenty years.

"You did the realm a great service in defence of her. Nothing expected more from one sworn to as such." Egg spoke, his tone firm and perhaps some pride hidden in their somewhere. "Even when the burden of command was placed upon you by the untimely death of one of the realm's greatest servants."

Queen Betha had made her way to her husband's side, a scroll held in her hands. "With all that you have done for the realm, it was decided that you shall be granted the lands and incomes of Oldstones."

A rapture of talk swept through the court for a moment. Not all that surprising. Anyone who knew anything knew that Oldstones was a ruined stronghold. It could barely even be considered a castle if it was not for the fact that it resembled one as such.

'Oldstones' wasn't even it's name. It had been there for so long, since the time of the Mudds that people had forgotten it's original name to the sands of time.

It's land and incomes by default of no-one claiming the land had been handed to House Tully. According to Egg, it had taken some wrangling and a good deal of gold to get Hoster Tully to hand the lands and incomes of Oldstones to House Targaryen.

In other words, it was certainly not the type of reward you would give to any respectable lord considering the wealth that would have to be sunk in rebuilding it. It was then a good thing then that it was being given to Duncan for him to rebuild and raise his own family there.

Duncan loved King's Landing. It was the city he had been raised in, but he loved Jenny even more. And Jenny longed for her home.

And if it hadn't been mentioned before, the royal court didn't like her all that much, since she was nothing more than a dirty commoner and all.

Duncan gracefully took the scroll that held the charter giving him the lands and incomes of Oldstones and bowed to his father and mother, "Thank you, but the satisfaction of knowing that I did my duty to serve the realm as a prince of the blood and as a knight is more than enough reward as it is." He cracked a small smirk as he straightened himself, "But I suppose I can take these lands off your hands if you don't want them that much."

When the King and Queen laughed, so did the rest of the court. Duncan then took his place on the raised dais, more accurately, beside his lady wife.

"Prince Aerys Targaryen, please come forth."

With Duncan's part done in the ceremonies, it was now my turn. Rising from my seat, I made my way towards my grandfather, back straight and face held high. Coming to a stop to stand in front of him, Egg gave me a nod of the head.

He made a small motion of the hand towards Ser Duncan the Tall, who merely made his way towards his king without the slightest sound. Although by now I knew better, whenever someone drew their sword, I always expected that little schling sound or the rasp of the blade as it escaped it's scabbard.

I got none of that before Ser Duncan gave his blade to Egg.

Egg had a small smile on his face, "If you could be so kind to kneel. It makes these things easier."

I dropped to a knee as the king had asked of me. It was considered something of an honour to have a king knight you. I felt honoured, but I was glad this was finally being done with. I had spent an entire night in vigil in the Great Sept of Baelor, then made my way through the city from the Sept itself to the Red Keep.

That had been one long walk.

I swore to faithfully serve my king.

I swore to protect the weak.

I swore to defend my lord and the realm faithfully from all those who threaten it.

I swore a whole lot in truth. Jaime Lannister had a point. There were so many oaths to keep to and some of them contradictory that it wasn't even funny. I had sworn to protect my king, but what if I was placed in the Jaime situation and my king was a mad man that was better off dead?

...Actually, that can be easily resolved by simply knocking out said king and stopping him from being an insane idiot. Still though, the point stood, some oaths just seemed to go against the other. Sort of pointless and I wondered if anyone had actually realised this and tried to change it.

Or was there something that made changing said oaths? Well, I suppose the supposed holiness and sanctity of said oaths might very well make it difficult to bring any sort of change, but someone could have tried, right? Something to think about.

When I had rose from my feet, I was now a prince and a knight. Glancing in the direction of the man that had agreed to giving me my spurs because I had earned it or because I was now particularly useless as a squire of any kind, Duncan gave me a barely noticeable nod of the head.

I returned it before going back to my seat.

Then the ceremonies continued.

The fanfare of trumpets heralded the arrival of the next heroes that had fought in the Stepstones and had done something significant one way or another. Men that had garnered much renown made their way towards the throne, heralds announcing all their deeds to the cheering of the assembled lords, ladies and affluent townsfolk who had been able to buy themselves a seat in the ceremony.

Well, more like a place to stand in the galleries.

The Tully brothers, Hoster and Brynden, but with special mention going to the Blackfish for being a badass that had build much renown around him. Lewyn Martell, the Prince of Dorne held a confident smirk on his face as his deeds were recalled, of how he had been the first to storm the walls of Grey Gallows, how he had killed a captain of the Golden Company.

With all of those things done, I wasn't surprised he seemed marginally pleased with himself.

Then came Tywin Lannister, closely followed by his younger brother Kevan. There was a dark look on Tywin's face and it didn't take long to understand why. Striding beside him, perhaps even just a tiny little bit in front of him, was Roger Reyne and to his side, seemingly not at all pleased, was his squire, Tygett Lannister.

The Red Lion was not what I expected. He was a tall, well built man, handsome even. A lone shallow scar ran over his eye but it seemed whatever blade that had given him that scar had not taken away his sight. A confident light shone in both of his green eyes and something of a smirk was threatening to come across his face.

Hopefully, no-one would come to blows in the ceremony and in the feast that was to happen later on. Tywin was a very controlled man and I doubt he would do anything to embarrass himself or his house's name, but I didn't know much about Kevan as a younger man other than that he was alright compared to his brother and I didn't even know anything about Tygett.

In fact, the youngest brother seemed downright menacing and that probably wasn't helped by the numerous small scars that dotted around his face. He must have seen and done some shit to get that many scars.

A northern party was the next to be heralded, Rodrik and his nephews in Brandon and Benjen leading the way. Among them, I recognised the giant of the Umbers along with the sunburst of the Karstarks, the merman of the Manderlys and quite disconcertingly, the flayed man of the Boltons, but I would be damned if I could put a name to any of the faces I saw wearing the heraldry.

None of the Tyrells had taken an active role in the fighting, but the might of the reach had been well represented by Ser Gerold, and said knight was already standing beneath the shadow of the Iron Throne doing his duty as a protector of the royal family.

Steffon and Quellon Greyjoy were the last ones to enter. Steffon seemed slightly bigger than the last time I saw him and the court was regaled with his deeds and the deeds of his fallen father. The court applauded the bravery of the fallen Lord Ormund.

Egg descended from his throne once more and stood in front of the assembled group of lords. "You have all done the realm and House Targaryen a great service. Whatever boon you may wish to ask of me, ask and it shall be yours."

Hoster and Brynden knelt before Aegon and the throne, Hoster speaking. "We wish for nothing, your grace. Serving the realm in the manner that we did is more reward than anything."

Which was complete bullshit because this had all been decided long before, this entire thing nothing more than a show for the masses and the lords and ladies that were not in the know. Whatever Hoster could have asked from Egg, he had already received as part of him handling over Oldstones to Duncan and his family.

Egg nodded his head. "If ever you wish to ask of something from me in the future, then feel free to do so."

Lewyn Martell was the next one to speak. "Your Grace, I beg the honour to serve in your Kingsguard whenever the opportunity arises."

So was this how Lewyn joined the Kingsguard? But he was going to have to wait. Aegon's Kingsguard was currently filled to the brim with all seven spots taken, but in the future, there was going to be an opening, a couple in truth.

Three of the members of the Kingsguard were elderly to the point that only four members of the Kingsguard could be considered active. One had begun to lose his wits. Another was slowly losing his eyesight that he could barely see several feet in front of him. And the last had been injured too badly in a tourney accident that he was all but bedridden.

"Granted." Said Egg in reply, a smile forming on his lips, "But not too soon, I hope."

Lewyn gave a silent acknowledgement before rising to his feet. Once more, this had been decided long ago. I didn't particularly know the reasoning why Lewyn chose to become a Kingsguard, maybe he truly wanted the honour to be serving in what was considered the premier order of knights in Westeros, or perhaps this had been decided by his sister and him to keep him close to the royal family and learn of anything that could impact Dorne in any manner.

I had been only told of what was going to happen in the ceremonies, instead of the why everything was happening the way it was. I suppose Egg considered me not yet ready to be involved in such dealings.

Like the Tullys, Tywin didn't ask anything from the king, but instead, led the court into a moment of silence for his fallen uncle, Ser Jason, who had fallen to the blade of one of the Nine, Spotted Tom, the Butcher. The only one who didn't even seem to try to seem sincere in his mourning was Roger Reyne who held a nonchalant expression on his face.

Considering that he had been the one to then go and kill Spotted Tom in single combat, if I didn't know about the Reynes, I would take this as a loyal vassal avenging his lord. But these were the Reynes. No doubt, Roger killing Spotted Tom in the manner that he did was probably another insult thrown towards the Lannisters.

I don't know how, but I'm sure somehow, it could be taken as that. Probably with something to do about the weakness of the Lannisters or something. Some of the more innocuous things can be easily twisted to mean something else depending on the perception.

When it came to Roger's turn to be given the usual spiel of what boon he wanted from the king, even though I knew what was coming, I did not enjoy the way his eyes danced with mirth when they glanced at me.

I sighed as I prepared myself for the shit that was probably going to come my way.

Roger knelt before the king. "Your Grace," He began, his voice noble and gallant. "If it would be so much to ask, I would ask that you allow Prince Aerys to accept a son of House Reyne to be his squire."

Gold eyes flecked with green snapped in my direction and I didn't let the intensity of the stare unnerve me, even though it felt like I should probably run out of the Great Hall screaming.

The king had a gentle smile on his face. "And what son of House Reyne would hold the honour of squiring for my royal grandson?"

"My firstborn is already squiring for a noble and courageous lord, thus I can only offer my second son Ryam." His eyes held their stare on my form. I returned the gaze. "I hope that is not much of an insult on your persons, Prince Aerys?"

I smiled, "None at all, my lord. I would gladly take Ryam Reyne as my squire." Once again, this had all been decided long before and I didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

Egg had just summoned me in a room with Duncan and had told me that I was getting a Reyne as a squire. His tone had broached a tone that essentially told me that I couldn't argue against his decision. I suspect there was more to his reasoning of giving the honour of a prince squiring the son of a rebel lord of a Lord Paramount.

It seems this announcement was going to be making the rounds among the court as they talked quietly among themselves over this announcement. I'm sure the words 'Lannister' 'Reyne' 'Tarbeck' 'Westerlands' were thrown in there somewhere and what it would mean for the westerlands as a whole.

The ceremony continued. When it came to their boon, Quellon and his iron islanders were rewarded with a subsidy on any food that was bought from the mainland, the same was asked off by Rodrik and his northern party, which Egg accepted.

When that was done, the lords went to take their places and the ceremony continued. More lords and knights that had distinguished themselves were rewarded for their efforts. A man-at-arms that had fought furiously in the defence of his liege was given a set of new freshly off the forge steel plate armour. Whatever sons he had were to be squired with knights in service of House Targaryen.  
A squire, Josef Vikary of House Vikary that had killed a knight of the Golden Company and then had gone on to capture another was knighted then and there, given some gold and armour along with a pick of a warhorse from the royal stables.

His knighting wasn't the only knighting that happened that day. More and many squires and men were given knighthoods and by the time it had come to an end, I had by then lost interest after having lost count at around a hundred give or take a couple.

Due to having functionally four Kingsguard knights to do the knight, me and Duncan had chipped in with the knighting and my arms had never ached as much as they did. For some strange reason that I couldn't fathom, sarcasm by the way, mine and Duncan's line that we were knighting seemed to be longer than the others. 

**xXx**

The sounds of music, singing and feasting could be heard throughout the castle. But at this very moment, the only thing that could be heard was the steps of one Tywin Lannister's footsteps as he paced back and forth, face dark.

I was expecting raised voices. You know, the tell tale signs that someone was really angry with you. But Tywin Lannister was a different kind of man but he was angry nonetheless.

Actually, he was fuming. Tywin stopped his pacing to level a stare in my direction. "You accepted."

"Tywin," I began slowly. "This had already been decided by the king, my uncle and Lord Roger."

"You know what he has done. What he and his ilk are doing. You could have very well denied him the honour in respect of our friendship." He began to pace again and spoke as he did so. "To accept a son of his as your squire is to give him an unprecedented amount of legitimacy. The lords of the West will look upon this and wonder more so than they are doing already." His voice threatened to rise, but in the end, it didn't.

"Like I have been telling you Tywin, I didn't have a choice in the matter. This was already long decided." I sighed. I hoped the next little bit of information would be able cheer him up a little. "At the very least, Tygett will stop from being held hostage against you and your family."

I had been able to get a quiet conversation in with the Lord of Castamere and was able to ask him to at the very least, allow Tygett to squire for someone else. Like his brother for starters. If Tywin goes and does his thing in the westerlands, he won't have to worry about his brother being used against him.

"An insult." Tywin responded, turning on his heel to face me. "Yes, Tygett's role as Lord Roger's squire could very well be used against me when I return to the westerlands and set it to right, but Tygett, along with the Lannister name shall have to live on with the shame and insult that one of our own was not a worthy enough squire for someone of Roger's calibre. Tygett would have better served House Lannister continuing in his role."

I cupped my chin in my hand as I went through what he told me, then decided to point out something to him. "But Tygett would have been killed when you decide to go against the will of the Tarbecks and the Reynes."

"He would have understood." Green eyes flecked with gold drifted to the window and stared out into the night sky. "If the roles were reversed, I would expect nothing less from a member of House Lannister. Especially if it means raising our name from the dirt that our fool of a father has made us make our bed in."

"But you would have gotten your brother killed." I stressed. He couldn't be serious. "I'm sure there is something against kinslaying."

"The blame would rest on the Reynes. They would have been the ones to kill him, nought I."

But wouldn't he hold some responsibility in the matter? His pressing of the attack could very well have been the reason as to why his brother get's killed in the first place. I'm sure there was something against that, or maybe I had just miss-thought the whole idea to kinslaying.

Maybe it was fine if someone else killed your kin despite you yourself provoking them? Man, this was confusing.

He faced me. "And Lord Roger cares for the honour of his family and his name. Killing his own squire would tarnish his name. Something I doubt that he would be willing to bare upon his name."

I wagged a finger in his direction. "That's a big if." In Westeros, people talked of honour, but their actions tended to go against what I would call 'honourable'. Maybe it was just values dissonance at work, but I don't know.

"An 'if' that would still give me the space I require to make my own moves." He then turned for the door and began to make his exit, nary sparing me any sort of glance. "Now if you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to. And in the future try not to insult my house anymore than you have already done, even if you had the best of intentions to heart."

Tywin Lannister was a weird kid. I don't think there was a way to make him happy. In other words, I had to know how Joanna did it.

I had yet to even get so much as a smile from him and Joanna spoke of how his smile was a beauty to behold and how his laughter was live the gentle sound of a thousand bells ringing at once. Mind you though, I think she was just saying things considering that she was betrothed to the guy.

I had a hard time imagining a sound that could be likened to a thousand bells ringing at once.

Looking out the very same window that Tywin had looked out of, I wondered whether I should just leave the general politicking to people who actually knew what they were doing, since apparently, I had no idea how to work with people. It was probably something I should see about doing.

Prince Duncan was more than likely going to be the new Hand of the King, and gods be willing, he was going to be Hand of the King for a very, very long time. Throughout my realm to help me smooth out any feathers that I might ruffle in my stumbling about.

Because apparently, doing something seemingly innocuous that you would think would help someone would very well mean another thing to another person. Sometimes, I wish I was a better people person that could do more than throw a pretty smile and say the right empty words when the situation called for it.

Sighing, I turned away from the window and went back to the party that was happening in the Great Hall and the castle grounds. 

**xXx**

Egg might rule the Seven Kingdoms as it's king, but when it came to the Red Keep, it was Betha who ran the place with the help of her daughters, Princesses Shaera and Rhaelle. Rhaella, Branda and Jenny also helped out whenever they had the time.

In other words, among those six ladies, they knew how to throw a party.

If I was anymore of a heavy drinker, I would have had someone carrying me back to my rooms, but thankfully, my conversation with Tywin had put a damper on my drinking mood. I drank far less than I had been originally expecting, thus when I decided to retire to my rooms, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself walking in a reasonably straight line.

The feast was still going on strong, well past the time the moon had hung in the middle of the night sky to signify midnight. Thousands of people had filtered into the Great Hall, major and minor lords alike with many a storied knights.

And that was only in the Great Hall. In the castle grounds and in other halls throughout the Red Keep, similar scenes of festivities were going throughout. I had made it a point try and visit each and every hall to at least make the lords and ladies had a chance to see me and have some small talk.

Apparently, the party atmosphere also extended to the city below according to some with the smallfolk celebrating in their own way of the victory of the war in the Stepstones. The goldcloaks were going to have their work cut out for them.

I think before I go to bed, I'll check up on Dany and see how she is.

Dammit, I was to use the feast as a chance to talk to Rhaella but my sister had been about as elusive as a ghost. Well, I suppose I could try tomorrow, hopefully, she would still be in a good mood.

Turning a corner, I found myself staring at the back of someone I knew half hidden by the shadows of an alcove. I grinned and made my way to him before giving a hearty slap on the back. "Steffon! I was wondering where you were! I didn't catch much of you in any of the feasting halls."

The last time I had seen him, he had been in a drinking contest with Lord Buckler and seemed to have been making a good show of it. To the despair of his mother who looked on appalled.

My hearty slap made Steffon jump and then through my sort of hazy sight, I noticed that he wasn't so much alone, half hidden by shadows. He had happened to be with a young lady. I grinned at Steffon who quickly turned around to face me, face red, either from the drink or embarassment was a little difficult to tell. "Steffon, you utter dog. Now who's the lucky," I turned to get a better look at the young lady, stopped and blinked. I blinked again before my heart did a double take. "Rhaella!?" I more or less squeaked out.

Rhaella seemed to have a put out face as she straightened out her skirts as she greeted me. "Aerys."

Steffon's eyes darted between me and Rhaella. "This isn't what it looks like." There was a slight slur to his voice, but it was more stable than I would have thought given the amount of ale, wine and beer that I had seen him drink.

I side eyed my cousin. "So what does it look like?"

Steffon struggled to think of something to say judging by how he opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Thankfully, it seemed as if out of the two, Rhaella had the most of her wits about her. "Our dear cousin was merely escorting me to my chambers. Unfortunately, something caught our attention."

"I'm sure it did." I replied dryly. I looked around. "Where is Ser Harlan? He would have been more than willing to escort you to your rooms. That's his job."

She waved me off. "I felt Ser Harlan's services would be best protecting his king. Who knows what threat may lie in wait for grandfather in a hall filled with a thousand souls?"

"You are important as well."

"Not as much as a king."

Steffon shifted on his feet. "I honestly didn't mean for anything to happen Aerys. I would never dishonour your sister in such a manner."

I looked at my cousin and sighed. "I know." I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you go take a rest, coz? Maybe a walk through the castle grounds for some fresh air. It might do you a world of good come morning."

Steffon nodded his head before quickly walking away. Rhaella scowled as she watched him disappear around a corner. "You didn't need to do that. I can take care of myself Aerys."

"I'm not saying you can't." I replied to my sibling. "But I am curious. What happened to Ser Bonnifer? I thought you had your heart set on him?"

Rhaella's face went through a change of emotions in a speedy manner before she spoke. "I'm not a fool, Aerys. Ser Bonnifer is well below my status and the chances of a match happening between the two of us is only possible if I do as Father or Uncle Duncan did."

"Then why don't you? Doing what we want seems to be something that's slowly become a trait of our family."

She gave me a look. "Because I understand my role to both my family and the realm. I will not be selfish and do whatever whim that comes to mind. Unlike some." The barely concealed venom in her tone was definitely directed towards me.

"Now we both know me and you marrying would have brought nothing to our house. Me marrying Branda brought us much needed allies." I cocked my head to the side. "And you seducing Steffon doesn't bring us allies. Steffon is our cousin. His mother is our aunt. I don't particularly think this strengthens us in any sort of way."

She turned away from me and began to walk away. I quickly made sure to keep up with her as she spoke. "Prince Lewyn was my original target, but he has made it known his wish to join the Kingsguard. I doubt I would be able to convince him other wise."

"Brynden Tully?" I suggested.

"Apparently, he is not interested. His brother has tried to match him with countless suitors, but he has rejected them all."

"I doubt he would reject a princess."

"I'm sure he would if just to spite his brother."

Well, that was the case for many of the things that he did. If I remember correctly, one of the Blackfish characteristics was that him and his brother did not get along well.

I threw out another suggestion for a name. "Kevan Lannister?"

She grimaced. "I have nothing against the young Lannister, but I would rather not be associated with Tywin Lannister." She glanced at me from the sides of her eyes. "I do not understand how you can stand such a man. Nor Joanna as well...but at the very least, if it means doing much for the family, then I would gladly do it."

"But you would prefer Steffon."

"I know him. He knows me. In time...I may perhaps grow to even love him."

And I suppose that was very much important. I scratched at my head. "Rhaella, there's something I have to say."

"Save it Aerys. I have already given you more time than you deserve." She returned stiffly. She began to pick up her speed, but I stopped her by grabbing at her hand. She whirled to face me. "Release me, now."

"I will. If you just hear me out." She was silent for a moment but she gave me a single nod of the head. I released her hand but was prepared to make a go for it again if she tried to walk away. She didn't. "I know you blame me for what happened to Father. I don't blame you. I have a responsibility to that as well, but I think you are laying too much of the blame on my head."

"Really?" She asked, voice dripping with venom. "Then who should I be laying the blame on then? Do enlighten me, brother."

"The maesters."

She looked at me for a moment. Then promptly turned. "I think we are done here."

"No we are not." I grabbed her hand again. She spun and landed a slap on my cheek. The sound reverberated around the empty corridor that we where in. I rubbed at the slowly reddening cheek and nodded. "Okay, I might deserve that. But you will listen to me. Even if I have to hold you here until the end of days."

Rhaella tried to tug her hand away from my own, but I was just simply stronger. She stopped and then glared at me. "Go on then."

And once again, I began to explain my suspicions, telling her about my conversation with Gormon Tyrell from all the way back at Summerhall. Of how I thought the fire had been caused by a group of maesters that probably worried their position being threatened by a resurgent Alchemists' Guild.

To my surprise, Rhaella listened and slowly, inch by inch, the venom in her eyes and the daggers that she was shooting at me at the same time with her eyes seemed to lessen with each passing moment.

"Do you have any evidence of this supposed conspiracy among the maesters?" She eventually asked after I had finished telling her my suspicions.

I released her hand once more. "No. Whatever evidence there is was more than likely burned away by the fire. And I have yet to come across any surviving pyromancer to actually know what happened." I looked at her almost pleadingly. "You can still blame me if you want, but at the very least, you have to know that I did not intentionally set out to have our father killed or thousands of others to die."

Rhaella looked at me, purple eyes turned black in the dimly lit corridor looking at me, perhaps even through me, searching for something. "I shall have to think about this." She said, turning away from me. This time, I didn't grab her hand. "If what you say is true, and I hope to the gods it's not, for making any enemy out of the Citadel is a height of foolishness that no-one has yet to climb to, then whoever did this, committed a great treason."

"I know that." I said with a nod. "All I'm asking is that you try not to put all the blame on me."

"Not all." She replied to me as she began to walk away. "But perhaps just some of it."


	24. Vol 3 - A Lion's Pride

**xXx**

 **Volume 3  
A Lion's Pride **

_**10th Month, 261 AC  
**_  
Down in the south, the winds of winter were gentler than those he had come to know whilst growing up in the north.

Thus, it was rather amusing seeing some of these southron knights and men complain about nothing more than a little cold. Benjen would have loved to see any of these men try and live through a true winter.

A winter of the north.

Pampered louts, the lot of them.

Beside him, Ser Gerrard Darke, his boiled leather and steel plate wrapped up in wools and furs to protect himself from the cold let out a mist of air as he huffed. "I don't know how you can stand this abominable weather. Never been in a winter so cold in my life." The knight sworn to House Darklyn of Duskendale eyed him at the corner of his eyes. "I'm surprised you are not worried about catching a chill as little warmly as you are dressed."

Underneath him, his courser whinnied as they made their way down the kingsroad towards their destination of King's Landing. Benjen leaned forward and patted his horse's neck. "Us Starks are made for the cold. Would you believe me if I told you that me and many have wrestled in the cold snows of the north bare chested?"

Judging by the look the knight gave him, he didn't believe him. "Madness. Madness I tell you." The older man said whilst shaking his head.

In reply, Benjen just shrugged, but then he couldn't grin like a wolf as he spoke to the man. "What is life without a little madness? I would think it dreadfully dull."

The kingsroad was blanketed white with snow, but the fairly regularly travel it saw had turned much of the snow into a slurry mush of white mixed with brown. There had been no snows for days now, stopping anymore from building atop the road.

But the kingswood around them was a different matter though. Tall evergreens that had kept their leaves could have been mistaken for having white leaves by the amount of snow that still rested on them. Whilst other trees found themselves stripped bare of their leaves and the little warmth that was afforded to them was take away by the snows that had come to wrest on gnarled branches that twisted and hooked all around them.

At the front of their convoy, Ser Barristan Selmy raised his hand to bring it to a halt. Curious, Benjen spurred his horse to the front to see what had caused them to stop, a hand warily travelling towards the blade strapped to his waist.

He had been at the receiving end of too many ambushes and attacks of the night for his liking.

"What holds us?" He asked, reining his horse to the side of the white cloaked knight.

As with all winters, men, women and children had died from the tender mercies of the season. Among the many that had been taken by a deadly winter chill that they could not recover from, had been several of the Kingsguard.

The most surprising had been Ser Duncan the Tall. The death of such a paragon of chilvary and someone who was referred to as the 'People's Champion' among the smallfolk had shaken the castle and the city.

No-one had seen such a thing coming. He had been more than healthy one moment and the next, a chill had come and quickly took him away from this world. No-one felt it more than the knight's oldest friend and companion, King Aegon.

With openings in the Kingsguard, the call had been made to knights that had been noted for their skill in arms and bravery. Lewyn Martell and Ser Barristan Selmy. The one that had been called the Bold by Prince Duncan himself.

Although there was a certain amount of a scandal in Ser Barristan's appointment. He was the heir to House Selmy, a house of principal renown and power in the stormlands and Harvest Hall was a strong castle. The fact that Ser Barristan had been willing to abandoned all that, along with a beautiful betrothed for the oaths of the kingsguard had added more to his already realm-wide fame.

Ser Barristan indicated to the front of them with his head. "A family of deer."

The knight spoke true as Benjen noticed the family of deer that was crossing the road ahead of them. A stag of noticeable size eyed their group warily with large dark leader then. Benjen decided. Doing an impeccable job of protecting it's own.

He would have loved to take a moment to hunt such a magnificent creature, but he doubted the good knight that led their party would have been willing to spare the time to humour his fancies. His hunt would have to wait for another time.

When the last of the deer had crossed and began to make it's way deeper into the kingswood, so did the stag finally follow after them, making a moment to stop and push forward a small fawn that was lagging behind.

When it was done, Ser Barristan signalled for them to begin moving ahead once more.

Glancing back, Benjen saw the sight of several carriages that carried their prisoners. Bandits, outlaws, robber knights, the lot of them had been praying on the trade that had been coming through the roseroad from the reach and raiding small villages within the surroundings of the kingswood.

It had been a task that took the greater part of a moon's turn and then some to finally hunt them down to their lair within the kingswood and a bloody battle to finally bring them down to heel. Many good guards men and knights had fallen in battle, but even more of the outlaws had fallen in the face of true steel.

Benjen made a point to drink to the memories of the men that had died in service of their king and duty.

They continued to make their way up the kingsroad for an hour. They could already see the Red Keep atop Aegon's High Hill long before they had actually exited the kingswood. They rode past travellers wrapped just in as many wools and furs as the men that he had fought with. Past merchants and the carriages that carried their goods, off to be sold in some market, somewhere.

Once upon a time, barges would have carried traffic from the side of the Blackwater they rode from to the side where the city lay, but the Blackwater Bridge had changed all that. The bridge was wide enough to allow four wayns to be driven abreast of each other, Benjen could remember once upon a time that this bridge had been nothing more than rickety wood that had given him pause as to it's strength and it's perceived ability to do the task required of it.

Now, it was more stone than wood. The builders and masons had started their work on the bridge before winter had come, when the leaves were turning red and the days had become shorter. In a testament to their determination, they had carried building and adding onto the bridge during the midst of winter to what it was now.

The bridge was a rather ingenious in it's own way. Thoughtful of traffic that would come down from upriver, the central, wooden part of the bridge made out of strong, sturdy ironwood could swing around on it's central axis to allow ship borne traffic through, whilst swinging back to allow land traffic.

A swing bridge it had been called. As curious at how it worked, what really caught his attention was the ornaments that decorated the stone portion of the bridge.

Can't forget about the dragons. Benjen thought as they rode upon the bridge of stone and wood guarded by four marble statues of dragons, two on either side of the bridge. All the dragons had been painted to a skilful degree that they may have very well looked like real, live dragons. My cousin's husband does love his dragons. I'm sure they will dutifully scare away any rabble that tries to cross this bridge and cause trouble in his city.

When they reached the river gate, they came to a halt as the gate captain took out a pad and handed it out to Ser Barristan. He looked past him towards the wagon that carried their prisoners. He shook his head. "Broken men?" He asked the knight.

Ser Barristan wrote on the pad and handed it back to the captain with a nod of the head. "Aye. And I suspect not to be the last that we will bring to justice for brigandry."

That was the problem with war.

The Stepstone had made Benjen. The deeds that he had done, in both for his name and that of his house had garnered him fame and glory that would live on into the ages. But just as war could make a man, it could also very well unmake one.

The broken men were more than proof enough of that.

He shook his head. The existence of men that couldn't even handle a little blood and death surprised even more so when sometimes, they came upon broken men led by a knight. Too find these storied knights held in such esteem by these southrons always amused him.

From all the stories he had grown up hearing about knights from Serwyn of the Mirror Shield to Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, he had half expected more from them. At the end of the day, they were just men with a silly title and status that did not mean much.

The gate captain took the pad from the knight and gave it a quick look over before his eyes darted towards their convoy before nodding. He stepped aside and waved them through. "Carry on, good ser and have a good day."

"And you too, captain." Ser Barristan spurred his horse and the rest followed after him.

There was still much to be done about King's Landing. The winter had slowed down construction, but the first parts of the city that had been rebuilt were now slowly accepting people to be moved into the houses and apartments that had been built.

Earlier than Aerys would have liked, but when disease had spread through the shanty that had been thrown outside the castle walls by the poor, he had to allow the relocating of those in need into proper housing. There was still much to be done, but King's Landing was slowly, but surely, on it's way to looking more like a full city rather than half of one.

The Hook carried them from the river gate towards the direction of the Red Keep that stood above all, it's shadow resting on the most affluent area of the city, with shops that held wares and goods that even he would be pressed to purchase if not his incomes were supplemented in other ways. It was a good thing that he was a Stark, for Starks cared nothing about such things.

"...The young lion seems intent on putting the westerlands to right." His ears picked up the chatter among some of the men.

"Aye. I've heard the same. Heard he tasked his brother with a hundred knights, seasoned by the war, to hunt down any and all robber knights that have been plaguing his lands."

"So like any other lord then?" Ser Gerrard voice carried about. "Tywin Lannister is not the only lord who has to bring peace to his own lands. Many are doing that as we speak."

"True as that is." He recognised this voice. It belonged to a knight by the name of Willem Darkwood, a distant kin of Ser Gerrard himself. "Most lords only have to deal with robber knights and their ilk because of the war. Tywin Lannister has to deal with those knights that had existed long before then."

"To think a Lord Paramount would be so poor in carrying out his duties...shameful I say. I'm surprised that the Reynes have yet to take this chance to try and take Casterly Rock for themselves. It was once said that the Reynes reigned over Casterly Rock after all and will reign over it once more."

Laughter rang out then and Benjen could feel himself groan. That jape was poor. A pun that he had far too many times wine sinks of the city and the court itself.

He pulled his horse back to join in the conversation. He might not care for their jokes, but there was nothing wrong with a little talk amongst men as these. "It's actually a company of five hundred knights instead of a hundred, sers." He corrected them, garnering the attention of the horsed men. "And from what I understand, young Ser Kevan has been making good of the task his brother set upon him."

Ser Willem snorted. "If it's any truth that these robber knights are underneath the sponsorship of the Reynes, we might soon find ourselves with a lion skinned."

"The question is though," Benjen began. "What colour would be it's coat. Red or gold?"

A question for the ages. All eyes were on the troubles that were happening in the westerlands. Many a betting pools had been placed by knights, lords and ladies aplenty as to which lion shall find itself dominating the westerlands.

Some lords amused themselves with their betting of the state of affairs of the westerlands, but others, of more dubious colouring acted to profit from the chaos. The ironborn being one amongst many.

It was strange though, it was said that Quellon Greyjoy was more reasonable than any ironborn had the right to be, so it beggered the question as to why he would allow his people to turn to their age old tradition of reaving. Their reaving a cause of concern for more than just the westerlands.

The north had more than their fair share of tales of ironborn trepidations along the Stony Shore and Bear Island.

The situation wasn't at all helped by the apparent inaction of the king when it comes to setting the westerlands to rights and returning law and order to it's lands and lords.

"Are you fishmongers wives or knights, good sers?" Ser Barristan barked as he reared his horse to the side to face them. "Do you have nothing better to do with your time than share gossip amongst yourselves?"

The men shrank into themselves from being rebuked by the kingsguard. But Benjen was just not any men. "What else can we do, good ser? There's no more battle to be had and our arses happen to be sore from all this riding. Might as well warm ourselves with our wagging tongues."

Ser Barristan frowned at him, but he kept up his smile amongst the silent chuckling of the men. "Perhaps I shall help you warm up in the training yard, ser. Nothing is quicker to warm the body up than a good work-out in the yard."

Benjen laughed uneasily. He valued his skill with a blade, being better than most. But he would admit that nothing more than a total thrashing would happen if he was to face off against the Bold himself.

But he was a man who did not step down from a challenge. And baring the loss of face amongst men that had come to respect him was something that he did not particularly want to face.

"Is that a challenge, Ser Barristan? If so, I very well accept."

He would make a wager, but he didn't make wagers on fool's bets. And this was very much a fool's bet.


	25. Chapter 25

**xXx**

 _ **11th Month 261AC  
**_  
"Now I know you are still too young to be helping your father in his decision making abilities, your mother would vehemently agree that you are still nothing more than a babe...but I really need your opinion on this. So how about it, want to help daddy?" Dany gave me something that resembled a nod of the head and I took that as a 'yes'. I spread out the three papers in front of me. "So which one do you like the most? No need to keep quiet. Do tell."

I waited for a moment for some sort of response but I got nothing as my daughter had lost interest in the papers and was starting to play with the toy that she held in her hands, making those baby sounds. It was at this point in time that I wished I could speak baby, or have the doctor or something on hand to help me out here.

"No?" I shook my head. It was worth a try though. I turned my attention back to the large papers that all held the same content, but the only difference being the large title emblazoned at the front. One read The Royal Herald, the second read, The Dragon's Standard and the last one held the wordsThe Daily Mail. All the titles were in a large enough font to take the attention and if it wasn't for the fact that colour dye was pretty damn expensive, I would have all the titles in red with a black background.

House Targaryen colours.

Since I couldn't have that, I had settled for the dragons motif. And each every one of the newspapers had a dragon border.

Setting up a cult of personality wasn't easy or cheap.

Looking over the titles once more, I decided to throw away The Daily Mail, it didn't suit my needs or what I wanted it to do. For starters, it didn't have enough dragons or not-so-subtle royal imagery unlike the other two.

Now I had to choose between the Herald and the Standard. This was a difficult choice right here. They both sounded nice and catchy enough. The Standard was a little bit more in your face about it than the Heraldwith it's title but the Herald rolled off your tongue easier than the other one.

Man, was this difficult.

Taking a few more moments, I tapped at the one that had The Royal Herald written on it. "This one. This will do."

The recently in-stated editor-in-chief of the now functioning The Royal Herald paper that was to exist as nothing more than a shameless propaganda unit for House Targaryen bowed in front of me. "Excellent choice, Prince Aerys. We will have the very first edition out on the streets as soon as possible."

"And the criers?"

"We've hired men with strong lungs and loud voices. All within hearing and then some will find themselves hearing any and all royal announcements even our most pressing headlines."

Headlines like Ser Barristan Leads Royal Men Against Band Of Outlaws!

I snapped my fingers as I dropped into my chair. I picked up Dany and placed her onto my lap, tugging away at her toy, something she didn't like judging by the sounds she was maing. "You have your first stories out?" The editor nodded his head. "Good man. Thank you, Hugh. I knew you were the right man for the job."

He bowed again. "All I am is a humble servant of the crown, your grace."

After that, Hugh the Editor picked up the sample papers and soon made his exit from my office. Setting up a newspaper was not easy. If it wasn't for the printing press, I don't even think it would have been even possible.

Thankfully, I did have a printing press so I could now cash in on the untapped market of the literate population of King's Landing, Duskendale, the Antlers and all the market towns within the logistical reach of the capital. I intended to also have said newspaper supplied to other towns and cities in Westeros.

From White Harbour and Barrowton in the north, to Gulltown and all those towns that existed in the riverlands, Seagard, Maidenpool, Fairmarket and every other town that existed in that place. Seriously, how many towns were in the riverlands?

Look, I wanted my propaganda machine to exist anywhere and everywhere where anyone could read, so the entire point was that eventually, my newspaper would be supplied all throughout westeros. I'm pretty sure I had the details down of what was going to attract the readers.

I had a news section, which did nothing but regale all what House Targaryen is doing for the realm which at the moment as far as I was concerned, would be the crownlands. I had to make sure my seat of power, at the very least had other centres of economy other than King's Landing and Duskendale.

Then came the gossip section, which, I'm not going to lie, was going to attract people the most. Sort of like how back on Earth, people were somehow interested in the lives and gossip surrounding celebrities, I intended to cash in on that. The nobles were at the top of the pile and since I lived at the centre of the Seven Kingdoms and the hub of all kinds of activity, the gossip that came out of the city was juicier than the gossip that would come out of say, Oldtown or Lannisport or any other place of note.

The nobles were going to like just spreading gossip, even more so now that their gossip would have a larger audience which meant a more people to shame this person for that reason, and that person for this reason, whether it be truth or made up being unimportant. The rich townsfolk will enjoy reading about the lives of the nobles, perhaps even making some of then even more wishful to join the nobility one way or another. And what better way to learn of the nobility than straight from the nobility itself?

And the smallfolk? I'm not going to lie. I doubt any of them knew how to read, so they weren't particularly my target market. But I was sort of positive that the fact that there now existed a medium that told the lives of their betters and the likes, they would at least be interested in education, either for themselves or their children when my schools become more of a standard thing.

At the moment, I was mostly concentrating my education program on orphans with enough pro-Targaryen propaganda that someone could very well accuse me of brainwashing poor innocent children. Which I would probably just nod and say, 'Damn right! That's exactly what I'm doing!'

The program also extended to the children of the Targaryen guardsmen and house hold staff. Nothing builds loyalty than knowing the guy you are supposed to be guarding and who you work for not only cares for your welfare, but for that of your family as well. Not that I really cared, but I was trying to go for the whole 'Father of his men' image, even if I was younger than most of the guardsmen.

Finally, although it had yet to be put into reality, I was hoping to build up a sports section. Sports that included tourneys, cause the people here loved their blood sports, football, rugby, gaelic football and the likes. To be honest, as a football loving Englishman, I didn't have much hope for the sport in Westeros. It wasn't bloody or physical enough.

Rugby and gaelic football on the other hand? The people had taken to that like nobodies business.

But that was still in it's infancy and the only sport that would be reported at the moment would be the various tourneys that would be held by whatever lord that feels to hold a tourney and get his name out there in the paper.

"Daddy's so smart, don't you think?" I asked the baby that was busy bouncing on my knee. She didn't reply as she giggled at the world suddenly going up and down in her eyes. "I know, you don't have to say anything. My brilliance and genius shines more than enough for me to know, but don't tell your mommy I said that."

I think I had this whole parenting thing down. Might as well start a 'Father of the Year Award' cause I was totally balling.

Someone knocked on my door and I called them in.

I raised an eyebrow when I saw my two squires walk in. Yes, not one. Two.

I had two squires now, cause I was important like that.

Ryam Reyne, a boy of twelve years of age, and his fellow squire-slash-page, Harrold 'Harry' Wendwater at a humble eleven years old instead of the twelve.

Ryam was my squire because his dad was a dick and somehow, he had worked out some sort of backroom deal with Egg and him being my squire was part of it. Harry, heir to House Wendwater, was my squire because that's what I had worked out with the Wendwaters to let me use their water.

I also had to give them a share of the profits from my bath houses when they started running. I also had to promise Harry a position in the future of some kind, although that depended if he impressed me enough.

To be honest, I don't think the deal was all that bad. The Wendwaters did alright. They weren't filthy rich but neither were they poor. They could call upon a modest force of levies and they also had a decent size fleet of ships. They had to transport that water somehow to anybody who was willing to buy it from them.

I quirked an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you two be in the training yard?"

Ryam stepped forward in front of Harry. "Ser Lewyn let us go for the day. So we came here to see if you have any tasks for us, ser."

Harry fumbled for something on his persons before bringing out a scroll. "We also ran into one of the king's messengers on our way here. He had a message for you."

"The messenger could have done his job and brought it to yourself personally, but Harry decided to take it of him and bring it here himself." Ryam said with a roll of the eyes as his fellow squire walked past him.

"We were coming this way anyway, it was at the very least that we could do." Harry responded as he passed me the message.

"It wasn't our task or a job set to us."

"Doesn't give us cause to not at least help."

Ryam made a non-committal sound to that as he headed for the wine dispenser and poured himself a cup.

Reading over the message, more of a summons than anything else, I rose from my seat. "I don't think you will have the time to drink that."

The cup was nothing but a few inches form his lips as his gold eyes glanced in my direction. "Hm?"

"I've been summoned by the king, and I need you two," I raised up Dany. "To find this princess' mother and leave her in her care. Then after wards you can..." I tried to think of something for them to do, but got nothing. "Do whatever you want. Do this and you will be done for the day."

Harry nodded and took Dany out of his hands. The youth had experience in handling babies, having two younger siblings himself. I was more confident in leaving Dany in his hands than Ryam's.

"It will be done, your grace." Harry said as he made for the exit.

Ryam quickly quaffed down the cup of wine and set it roughly on the table and followed after his fellow squire. "I am beginning to wonder this is nothing more than a punishment by my lord father for some wrong I've done him. If my family heard of me playing nursemaid, they would surely laugh and never live it down."

"Ryam, I can hear you. Do watch your words. Just because I'm a lenient man does not mean I am not willing to punish any disrespect." I warned the Reyne.

Ryam was a disagreeable sort, proud and did think a little bit too much of himself. Then again, I was more than willingly to blame that on the environment that he had grown up in and having Roger Reyne as a father.

Sometimes, it was amusing to watch and hear him complain about doing things well below his status as he liked to say, but when things got a bit too far, I had to step in and put the metaphorical foot down. Sometimes, literally.

I may have a stupid hand that I couldn't hold a sword with, but that didn't mean I still wasn't faster or stronger than the younger boy, with tons more experience in combat.

The boy stopped, turned quickly and bowed. "Sorry for my language, your grace." He said before running out of the room straight after Harry.

With that done, I began to make my way to my grandfather's offices. 

**xXx**

Archmaester Gormon was someone I had not seen in more than a couple of years. In fact, I did not expect to see the man ever again.

I had a distinct feeling that he was probably involved in the event the locals had come to know as the Great Fire of King's Landing. I felt like punching that mildly handsome face of his, then I would remember that he was a Tyrell, even if he had thrown his last name away when he forged his chain, I liked to think that you just didn't become an archmaester before you reach thirty without a little help.

"Prince Aerys!" The archmaester rose from his seat, a large amiable smile on his face as he saw me enter. "It's been so long."

I returned the amiable smile and feeling as I walked to him. "It has, archmaester. Two, three years?" And in those three years, Gormon had grown a small beard.

A beard that he stroked now in thought. "Just about and much has happened in such a short time. Joyous and dreadful news. It's a horrible shame about what happened to the city."

"Buildings can be repaired, but we can never bring back the thousands of lives that were lost. The Blackfyres will answer for this in time." I more or less promised.

Gormon smiled. "I'm sure they will, your grace."

Egg had been quiet whilst me and Gormon talked, but he eventually let himself known. "I wasn't aware you two knew each other."

I made my way towards the dispenser, because I needed a drink. Because of that, it was Gormon who answered the king's question. "It happened back in Summerhall. Me and the prince shared a lovely talk with each other."

Egg nodded. "I suppose a sense of knowing between the two of you will make the coming talks easier."

Like Ryam before, I had been caught with a cup just a few inches away from my lips. "Hm? What talks?"

Duncan nearly scared me as he suddenly announced his presence when he answered. "The maester's wish to start King's Landing's very own Citadel." Around the prince's neck was a necklace of silver made of entwining hands clasping each other.

His own symbol of office of the Hand of the King.

Duncan rising to the office had been a fool's bet. No-one could rightly say he didn't deserve it as he was one of the most capable men in the kingdoms.

That was all good and all and could congratulate my uncle on him becoming Hand of the King another time. At the moment, I was more taken away by the fact that these bloody assholes wanted to set up shop in the city that they destroyed? The utter nerve.

I wanted to deny them, but I really couldn't think of anything to use as a reason. Like I said, the maester's had more influence than I thought healthy in many households. I wasn't about to let them set up shop in my backyard.

There had to be some kind of way that I could at the very least mess with them.

And I think I had it.

I clapped my hands in anticipation. "A great idea. It's been too long and something I was about to propose."

Gormon leaned forward in his chair slightly, a dark brown eyebrow slightly raised. "Really?"

I bobbed my head up and down eagerly. "Yes. I'm sure by now you know of my efforts to educate the populace."

"Yes. We've reached news of your efforts all the way down in Oldtown and the halls of the Citadel itself. May I just say, your printing press, a marvellous invention. How did you come up with it? The closest thing we've ever heard of such a device is held in old dusty tomes that speak of similar devices in lands as far of as Yi Ti and Leng."

The China expy had a printing press? Of course it had. Why would it not have a printing press? And what the fuck was Leng?

I shamefully gave a laugh that sounded as if I was laughing in embarrassment. "A moment of inspiration in truth."

"One of many." Duncan spoke up from the side. "He has been having a lot of these moments of inspiration. What did the High Septon say? Something about you being touched by the Smith himself? Isn't that so, nephew?"

"Yes uncle. The High Septon said words along them lines, but not to that degree." I side glared my uncle to his laughter. Note, that did not stop me from allowing the man to spread that little declaration of his among his clergy. Got to make it seem I was touched by the divine and their was nothing the commons loved more than someone touched with the divine. I returned my attention back to Gormon. "In truth, the credit has to go the blacksmiths and the artificers that were able to bring my moment of inspiration into reality. They are the ones who deserve the praise."

"Ah, but you are the one who thought of the device. Some would say the vast majority of the credit should lie with you."

I bowed. "Then I defer to whatever those man think of me then. But regarding the capital having it's very own Citadel, my own idea on the matter is slightly different to what I suppose many of you are thinking."

Egg motioned for me to take a seat. "How different?" He enquired.

I took the seat that Egg had offered and began trying to explain. "From my understanding, you are not a full-fledged maester unless you forge an entire chain, correct?"

Gormon nodded. "Aye. Until then, one cannot be considered a full maester."

"What I had in mind was that instead of such a system, the system of the school I had envisioned would at first, teach the students varying subjects. Then when they reach a certain age, pass certain exams, they can go on to forge a single link in any chosen subject of their choosing, mathematics, law, economics, engineering, metallurgy and likes if you understand."

Yes, I was thinking of somewhere along the lines of your primary, secondary, tertiary education system. The Faith was already helping me with the basics of reading, writing and basic mathematics, so the primary portion of the trinity had been seen to. Well, in King's Landing anyway. But the more advanced subjects needed tutors who were well learned in such subjects.

The alchemists' were supposed to make up some of my teachers whilst for the rest in the subjects the alchemists had no clue in, I would have approached the Citadel to supply the necessary maesters. Then they had to go and do what they did to the Alchemists, which destroyed some of my willingness to approach them, even though I know that not all maesters are bad.

Then I had been willing to replace whatever the maesters could supply with foreign teachers. They would do their job simply for the money instead of trying to play some sort of game with me. Even more so when they come to understand that they didn't have much of a leg to stand with if they failed me.

No protections of family. Nothing like that.

Basically, my orphanages were my nursey-slash-primary school-slash-ninja academy, then this school would be high school and university all rolled into one. Even if they didn't forge a link (I.e. get a degree), they would still be vastly knowledgeable than most of the westerosi population.

The Tyrell frowned. "Such a system would not result in an institution such as the Citadel."

I smiled. "No. I suppose not. It would be something completely different. A royal school if you will."

That will be able to constantly supply me with a learned, probably skilled recruitment pool for the vast bureaucracy that was going to pop up to meet the needs of a continent.

"Another one of your little ideas, Aerys?" Egg asked with a weary sigh.

I graced my grandsire with a thousand watt smile. "By now, I would think it obvious."

"I'm starting to believe there maybe some truth to what the High Septon remarked about you."

A sheepish laugh escaped my lips. "I wouldn't take what he says too seriously, grandfather."

He could start calling me all that in the future when everything else was par for the course.

Gormon then spoke up, bringing the talk back to the subject of my school that was not actually, probably the Citadel that he was thinking about. "A maester's chain is a symbol of our order. A single link can't replace that."

"No." I agreed with a nod. I got up and walked to the dispenser and poured Gormon a cup. Manners. They did a whole bunch. "But tell me, archmaester, in the Citadel, how many of your acolytes go on to forge full chains?"

Gormon was quiet for a moment before he spoke up. "Not as much as we would like." He admitted quietly, as if he was admitting some great shame, but then the wind came back to him. "But more than enough for us to do our required duties throughout the Seven Kingdoms."

Now from what I could remember about the Citadel, they had a tendency to favour the sons and spares of the noble houses. If you didn't come from a noble house, then you were pretty much screwed or had to put in a lot of effort to forge your chain. More than likely later than a peer coming from a noble house.

Which results in people like Haldon Half-maester, but I think his situation was different? Probably. I can't remember all the details, except that being a half-maester was supposedly a thing.

I gave him that. At the very least, the maesters seemed to make it a point that every castle was stocked with a maester of some kind. Still though, I had to wonder how effective the maester system was. How much did the maesters know about the subjects they had forged their link in?

Was it high school level? Bachelor level? Masters? Doctoral?

Or perhaps it depended on who you were. And I was cynical enough to think that it happened. A fully chained maester making the test for the acolyte easy for one acolyte because he had an important name or someone was rich enough that it was within their good sense to make him pass.

But for that brat that they had picked off the street? Nah, the effort isn't worth it. It's not like the brat would need to have a full chain to serve in some kind of other role in the Citadel.

And I was pretty positive that the Archmaester title was pretty much the equivalent of a PhD around these parts. Extreme knowledge in one particular field or something like that.

"My school would probably see a higher amount of graduates than the Citadel, but at the same time, they won't be as knowledgeable in as many areas as maesters." So they wouldn't have to worry about the monopoly of knowledge they had. Or was that merely a groundless thing that I had read about the Citadel? At times like this, I missed the Internet. "That alone would serve the realm more than enough. A literate, educated workforce can do wonder for the wealth of the realm. If you don't believe me, look at Braavos." Not that I knew jack shit about how Braavos ran, but I assumed they had a marginally educated workforce, because hey, everyone else is wallowing in the high middle ages and they are busy laughing in the renaissance or as close as possible to that particular era.

I passed him the cup of wine that I had poured for him and Gormon accepted. "And for any of those that wish to forge a chain, they can be directed to the Citadel in Oldtown. Their knowledge would already make it easier for more of the acolytes to become maesters, don't you think?"

Gormon tentatively nodded his head. "I suppose. But this...this is something I would have to talk about with my peers in the conclave."

"And that is your right."

When Gormon had left, probably riding hard for Oldtown or something, I was left alone with Duncan and Egg. Us three royals enjoying each others presence, cause we were close like that.

"You are aware that I could forcefully put an end to your project as of right now?" Egg asked, breaking the silence of the room.

I nodded. "Yes. I'm surprised you just didn't shut me up and give Gormon the go ahead for a Citadel to built in King's Landing." I looked at my grandfather inquisitively. "Why didn't you? It would be well within your rights."

"You are to be king." Egg pushed his chair back and rose from it. "If I stopped you now, you would have merely done so when I finally leave this world."

"Not for a long time I hope."

There was a certain solemnness to the smile he gave me. "I've seen sixty-one name days Aerys. Soon me and your grandmother shall be gone from this world. There is no incentive for me to stop your projects when I shall not be king for much longer."

Duncan moved to Egg's side and put a hand to his shoulder. "Father, you aren't that old. You still got some decades in you."

"One can only wish, Duncan." He said, before his large, kind eyes rounded on me. This time, his smile was a bit more light heartened. "But I beg you, try not to beggar the realm with your projects."

"I'm horrible with money." I admitted before pointing towards Duncan. "It would be up to my uncle and Hand over there to keep me from beggaring the realm."

Duncan quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? You would keep me as your Hand? I'm touched."

"Well, you seem to be doing a good enough job at the moment. That might change if you slack off though." I was quiet for a moment. "Or someone better turns up."


	26. Chapter 26 - Our Claws Are Sharp

**xXx**

 _ **11th Month 261AC  
**_  
His father had said that serving as a squire to Prince Aerys was an honour. What honour was there in serving a cripple who couldn't even fight, let alone hold a sword?

I wonder what I did to earn this fate from father. He thought to himself. I would have preferred to squire for him, or even uncle Reynard.

Right in front of him, in the training yard, Harry Wendwater faced off against Brandon Stark. Harry might as well have been an offering. His fellow squire was a poor swordsman who didn't even seem to hold any particular skill with the sword.

He was always over cautious, not willing to go into the attack. A poor tactic considering that most of the people that trained and practiced with them were far better swordsmen than him. Brandon Stark for one.

And it showed as he easily broke Harry's guard and send him sprawling to the floor within quick succession.

"So let me get this right. You have a father called Roger, an uncle called Reynard and your name is Ryam." Beside him, his own sparring partner, Benjen Stark rubbed at his beard. "Is there any particular reason for your family's fondness with that particular letter?"

Not too his knowledge there wasn't. Although he would admit that his family did have a curious appreciation for that particular letter. He had distant cousins named after his grandsire Robert. Others named after some other Reynes by the names of Rion, Robar, Rosalyn, Rose, Rosa, it just went on and on and on.

But he wasn't going to tell Benjen that. He didn't need to be mocked any more than he did. This lion still had his own pride.

"And how many Brandon's have been in the Starks then?" He asked, turning to face the older man.

Benjen blinked. "You know, that's a good question. Nobody actually knows. Us Starks can trace our ancestry all the way back to the Age of Heroes. That's thousands of years of history, little lion. There's bound to have been a few Brandons during that time. More than can be counted." He grinned a wolfish grin that was almost barbaric in it's manner. "And let's not forget the bastards as well."

Ryam shook his head. The northmen and their strange ways. For some reasons, they thought it well to keep their bastards close. Such impropriety would not be seen anywhere near Castamere or his lady aunt's castle of Tarbeck or within the very lands of the west itself.

At least they are not the Dornish. The less said about those particular savages the better.

A crash in the snow attracted his attention to the sparring ring once more. He wasn't surprised to find Harry on his arse again and picking himself up.

"That's enough for now." Brandon said, his boots making muffled sounds as he walked towards Harry. He held out a hand. "You are getting better. Slowly, but getting better."

Harry was all but beaming from the praise. "That's good. Better is better than nothing." He said as he accepted the hand, and in one simple motion, Brandon hurled him to his feet.

Ryam thought he saw Harry hang in the air for a moment. "By the rate you are improving though Harry, you would be married, have children, and they will still be better than you." Harry levelled a look in his direction and he smiled. "What? I only speak the truth. I've seen old women fight better than you."

"Pay him no attention, Harry." Brandon put a comforting hand on the squires shoulder. "Some learn quickly. Others learn slowly."

"And even if you don't improve, the practice and techniques you learn will still make you better than your average guardsman." Benjen continued causing Harry to smile at his prospects. "Well, until he gets proper training and experience that is."

And the smile dropped. Brandon sighed as he shook his head. "Brother, please think about the things you say."

Harry shrugged off Brandon's hand and made his way towards the weapons stand. "It's fine. I've never been good with a sword. I know that much." He said as he placed his practice sword and shield onto the stand.

"Have some faith in yourself." Ryam said in some annoyance. "If you have so little faith in yourself, you won't make any progress then. If you believe in something, then it will happen."

The Wendwater heir looked at him. Stupid blue eyes looking at him before he spoke. "...But I am hopeless with a sword though. Everyone in my family knows it. I know it. Ser Lionel knows it."

"Who's Ser Lionel?" He asked in confusion. He didn't think they had come across a Ser Lionel since they seemed to share just about anything when it came to their squiring duties. The same tutors, both academic and martial, or perhaps. "Have you been having extra lessons behind my back? I'm slightly impressed at by that. Well done."

"No." Harry said as he shook his head. "Ser Lionel is the captain of the guard and master of arms back home. He was the one father charged with my martial training."

"He mustn't be that good then. I would look for a new master at arms and captain of the guard."

Harry turned and raised up his head in anger. "He distinguished himself in the Stepstones. He saved father's life." He then calmed himself done and leaned against the stand, the fool nearly knocking it over. "I'm better with a bow anyway. I prefer that compared to a sword."

"A bow? Coward's weapon."

Behind him, he could hear the Stark twins chuckle. "Bows can be quite deadly in the right hands." Brandon told him.

"Not that deadly to a knight in full plate." Ryam responded as he turned to face the Starks. He crossed his arms. "The arrow would have just about as the same amount of value as an annoying fly. If the knight even notices it."

"Then I'll just shoot the horse then." Harry said as he looked rather pleased with himself. "I have seen enough tourney accidents to know that it's rare such things end well. Even more in the midst of battles if the knight happens to be in a charge. Think of all those horses, and their hooves thundering on the ground. And that poor knight in the midst of that, without a horse."

Ryam whinged at the image. That was not a honourable way to die on the battlefield. It had to be with blood on your blade, facing off against a worthy opponent.

"And not all knights are rich enough to possess full plate armour. Even that of the highest quality that you might be used to seeing around the castle or back home." Brandon said to him.

Harry snickered at something. "I suppose you should thank the Lannisters for that then."

Ryam's face darkened as a foul mood came over him. "I will thank no-one, especially those clawless cubs." As he took a single step forward in advance towards Harry. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a look pass between the Starks. That was what saved Harry from feeling his wrath at mentioning the cowardly lions that ruled the westerlands. If the gold lions couldn't possibly rein the westerlands, it had to fall to the red lions. It was only natural. "What is it?" He questioned the brothers.

Brandon shook his head. "Nothing. It's just..."

"Tywin Lannister is not as clawless or toothless as you think." Benjen Stark finished off for his brother. Yes, he had been in the presence of both brothers long enough to know that they did that occasionally, but it was very strange.

And just...strange.

Ryam waved him off. "Nothing but a boy. If he faces father, father would defeat him in the field of battle." His father was the deadliest man in the entirety of the westerlands. No-one stood a chance against the Red Lion of Castamere.

In fact, his family was filled with exceptional people that could bring the westerlands to greater and even better heights than the Lannisters could ever. His aunt was exceptionally beautiful, more than any other lady in the west and perhaps the realm except for the Targaryens who themselves were inhumane with their beauty.

If there was one thing that he would give Aerys Targaryen was that he was prettier than all the Reyne and Tarbeck women combined.

His uncle's wits and his silver tongue was known throughout the realm. If he tried, Ryam was sure his uncle could convince the Stranger himself to spare him of death.

Being at court, he had also come to learn of the news and events that were happening in the westerlands. Through gossip or through letters from his own family there.

He was well aware that things were close to a point of no return. Just recently, it had yet to spread through the court, but he was sure that some people would begin to know, he had come to learn that his aunt and Tywin Lannister had come to something of a stand-off.

Tywin Lannister had come to hold his uncle, the useless sot Walderan Tarbeck hostage and in return, in the sort of courage, bravery and thinking a lion would do, Aunt Ellyn had captured three Lannisters, include the brother of Tywin's betrothed.

His mother had been lacking in the particular details, mostly swamping the letter with requests of his welfare instead of the subjects that truly mattered. He truly loved his mother, but sometimes, she was far too soft for a lion.

"Eh, Ryam, Ser Tywin has also seen battle. Your father and Ser Tywin fought together." Harry unhelpfully pointed out.

He rounded on him, "I know that, Harry. It still won't matter. He's still nothing but a boy compared to father."

Brandon and Benjen laughed amongst themselves once more. "If Tywin Lannister is a boy at nineteen name days, then what are we at twenty?" Benjen asked as he calmed himself down from his laughter.

"Hopefully, it won't come to any sort of fighting." They turned their attention to the new arrival and saw Prince Aerys approach them along with his lady wife, Branda Stark. All of the assembled bowed at his and his wife's arrival. "I told you to stop doing this. You are my squires and family as well." The prince said in irritation at them bowing.

Yes, the prince did not like being bowed to, but he would be caught dead if he didn't follow social expectations. He represented House Reyne in the royal court, it would be utterly maddening to do something that would embarrass his family.

Princess Branda moved towards her kin, her eyes passing him and Harry. Her eyes seemed to linger on him for more than a moment though. He smirked. She's pretty enough in a wild way, I suppose. Maybe she's enchanted? The wife of the crown prince falling for his obvious charm would make a great story.

He could see it now, The Princess and the Squire. A great story indeed, but it probably won't end with him surviving that story.

For now, anyway. Crippled as he was, Aerys was still faster, stronger and more experienced. The fact that the crippled prince kept knocking him onto his arse whenever he bothered to enter the ring annoyed him.

It will change one day. That I vow. After all, all I have to do is finish growing.

Benjen seemed disbelieving of the prince's statement as he shook his head. "The pride of lions is well known. I have yet to learn of a single pride of lion that has more than two males. How can it not end in blows? If the westerlands is the pride, then the red and gold lions are the males vying for dominance."

"And the red is winning." Brandon added.

That caused him to smile widely with course we are, Our Claws Are Sharp.

"Careful now, best not to give our little lion any ideas." The prince mused as he noticed the smile that had been on his face. He quickly made sure it disappeared.

It was more difficult than he thought.

Princess Branda shook her head. "As pretty as these animal analogues are, remember we are dealing with men. Intelligent men. A war so soon after one had just ended would simply not be worth it."

There needn't should be war. All the Lannisters have to do is give up Casterly Rock. Perhaps father would give them Castamere in return.

He would miss those winding tunnels of Castamere, with the gold and silver veins glittering in the light, but he had once feasted his eyes upon the glory of Casterly Rock and he would admit, Castamere did not measure up.

"Ah, but there lies the problem, coz. Men. They tend to think actions are better than words." Brandon said to his sister, sighing in defeat as if conflict was inevitable.

Harry walked up to the prince. "Why hasn't the crown intervened then if war is not what they want in the westerlands?"

The prince looked down at his squire and shrugged. "Reasons and certainly not a subject that should be talked about in the presence of children. Come along now you two, I have armour that I will never wear that needs to be cleaned so thoroughly that I can use it to regularly admire the perfection that is me in it's reflection."

Harry and Ryam shared a look between each other before silently following their ser. It was always like this with the crown prince. He would leave them be for extended moments of time at the random, and then on others, he would make them do some of the most inane things for no point.

Such as this.

Once, he had sent them to go look for a 'breastplate stretcher' when no such thing existed, yet he was convinced such a thing did. Saying someone called Lancel had gone to look for one.

Whoever this Lancel was, he was an idiot. 

**xXx**


	27. Chapter 27

**xXx**

 _ **11th Month 261AC**_

Fresh of the assembly line, the ship had that new car smell.

Okay, maybe that was just a tiny bit of an exaggeration. The boat didn't have that new car smell, but it probably had a corresponding smell. Like pine or oak or something. Actually, what was it made out of?

Smaller than I thought it would be compared to the war galleys and most ships that I had seen plying their trade at the docks, but from the looks of it, it seemed far closer to what I had drawn this type of ship should look like. I'm not going to lie, I was no sailing or ship expert, everything I knew about this particular type of ship had been based on the bare minimum I could remember from trawling the internet.

I mean, most of the measurements and dimensions around the schematics I had drawn were more than likely going to be joined by a question mark signifying my own lack of knowledge in the area. Partly the reason why it had mostly been trial and error when it came to building this particular ship.

All I know is that clippers were the fastest sailing ship of their time because it had something to do with the total sail area, angular design and the ability to sail closer to the wind...whatever that meant.

So yeah, this was a risk on my part, but the guy in charge of this particular project seemed rather pleased with himself at the results. So I took that as a good sign.

"Well, it can float at the very least." I remarked as I took one final glance of the very first clipper built in the entirety of planetos, Quicksilver. Yes, I had named it after a Targaryen dragon. I was going to be naming a lot of things after Targaryen symbolism.

Like I said, building a cult of personality wasn't easy or cheap.

Bryce the head shipwright of the shipyard and the man who had overseen the building of the Silverwing grunted. "But can it move as fast as you said it could, Your Grace?"

I shrugged. "That's something we will have to test out." My eyes panned over the body of the ship once more and I decided that a couple of changes had to be made. "Dye the sails black and see if you can have the three headed dragon of the Targaryens placed prominently on one or all of the sails. I want it big and to be seen." I then pointed towards the bow of the ship. "And in white paint or something, mark it as HMS Quicksilver. For identification purposes."

"Considering the cuts you are making to the Arsenal, is that truly wise? Dyes cost money."

Man had a point, I couldn't deny that. "I was able to work it out with our master of coin to give us enough funding to build a moderate sized squadron of twenty-one ships."

In truth, Lord Rowan would have far preferred it if I didn't spend so much money. I wanted forty-nine, because of the holy double of 7x7 but he had balked at the costs of building such a number of experimental ships that have never been tested out before. He had made sounds about them sinking or being unfeasible or something.

Speaking of which, is twenty-one to big of a number for a squadron? Would it be more appropriate to call it a fleet then? Man, the little details were rather annoying to work out.

"We'll need to take her out for a trial run first, your grace." Bryce advised, rubbing a large hand on his jaw. "Got to be sure that everything is running as smoothly as possible before we make anymore. No point in spending so much coin on a ship that doesn't live up to expectations."

I nodded. "I'll find a crew for you, Bryce. I'll have them come down from King's Landing as soon as possible. In fact, I'll do it the moment I get back to the city."

The shipwright gave a grunt as confirmation. And once again, I marvelled over the clipper and hoped to the gods that it wouldn't abjectly fail when it faces the open seas. That would be rather embarrassing.

Lord Rowan had been clamouring after me for so long about keeping costs down, that all he needed was one mishap or disaster for him to go Egg and ask him to intervene. I know the man was doing his job and I had even gone out of my way to try and lower as much of the cost as I could when it comes to everything that I was doing. I was even trying to make up some of it with some enterprise on the side.

I was having the Dragon Pit demolished because seriously, we have no dragons. Why no-one had demolished that thing years ago was beyond me. The thousands of thousands of tonnes of materials that we could recycle from it's rubble would go a long way to lower down the rebuilding costs of King's Landing.

My own particular prejudice and motives left to the side, I already had other plans for Rhaenys' Hill and that particular building was in the way. That, and fact that thing was just hideous to look upon on the city sky line in it's current state.

Done with another admiring view of the Quicksilver, I placed a strong, comforting hand on the shoulder of the shipwright and tried to wave away any doubts that he was having. "I want this to succeed as much as you, Bryce. I know you and your people put a lot on the line on this, and I want to return the trust you put into following me."

Dark, beady eyes glanced at me and looked over my force. I didn't shy away from the look and eventually, the shipwright nodded as he looked away, suddenly finding whatever he had been looking for. "I'll hold you to that, your grace."

I merely nodded my head.

Bryce and the shipwrights that he had been able to convince to come with him when I approached whatever was left of the Shipwrights' Guild had pretty much placed their entire lives in my hands. When I had first approached the guild after the fire about establishing the Westeros answer to the Arsenal of Braavos, they had been interested, until I shared my ideas of how to achieve that.

They had not reacted as well as I had thought to some of my proposals to how we could get an Arsenal up and running. They weren't particularly receptive to my idea of the crown owning the entirety of the Arsenal by itself without giving them a share of the business or the profit produced.

They didn't like it when my rather innovative ideas went against tradition. Of how a guild worked and of how they accepted new members into their guild.

In fact, I considered it rather lucky for me to even get a master shipwright and several journeymen and a couple of dozen of apprentices to join up. I had lost a few of those journeymen to some underhanded (read: knife in the back) to the Shipwrights' Guild, but after sic'ing the goldcloaks on them, they got the idea to play nice or get the fuck out.

Some decided to place nice, others, the traditionalists just decided to get the fuck out. From what I learned, some have gone to Duskendale were Lord Darklyn was accepting them with open arms. Others all the way to Oldtown in the Reach or closer to home to the Maidenpool and Saltpans in the riverlands.

Going around pissing of guilds probably wasn't a very good public relations I'll admit that, but really, I think I had offered more than enough benefits for them to see my way. Some just happened to be too far stuck in the past and tradition to see the more profitable venture I was offering them.

Now then, explaining what assembly line production and division of labour was and implementing it considering the sheer fact that I only had at best several dozen people to impart their knowledge of shipbuilding to dozens, then hundreds, then thousands, no wonder it took so long to get the first ship out of the production line.

Thankfully, it seemed Bryce was sure that give it another year, they'll have more than enough trained personnel to spread the burden of training among more employees to the point that eventually, we'll be able to match Braavos in ship production.

And the clipper was the only thing they had been concentrating on, nothing else.

I picked up a bottle of arbor red, and although the Quicksilver hadn't been launched yet, I still tossed the bottle to smash against the hull of the clipper. Bryce looked at me with a raised eyebrow at the strange action.

I shrugged. "For good luck."

Because I really hoped this thing would work out for me.

*** ***

The Arsenal was located a few miles upriver from King's Landing. In fact, from the walls of the Red Keep, you could probably notice it with good enough eyesight, barring that, a telescope would do. Around the Arsenal, a town was slowly developing to house all the workers and their families.

I had mostly been interested in my workers having a place to sleep in, but some enterprising souls had been quick to set up other businesses. Taverns, inns, brothels which were seemingly a necessity in any large scale town or village among various other things.

I think I even saw the signs of the beginning of a supermarket at work in one of the buildings that had been rented out by a wealthy merchant from King's Landing. A general goods shop, he called it. I had flashbacks to my Runescape days when he had said that.

Ah, those were the days.

The Arsenal wasn't the only source of industry though. Across the Blackwater, just outside the boundaries of the kingswood, a saw mill supplied the Arsenal with the needed wood for ship production. Of course, other factories had sprang up as well because not only was my Arsenal a shipyard, it was also very much an armoury as well as a foundry.

Although the armoury and the foundry were in a work in progress, along with the steel mill that supplied the foundry with the metal that I was going to need later on. Most of my attentions had been concentrated on getting the shipyard part of the arsenal up and running first compared to the other two.

That, and the fact that unlike the Shipwrights' that had been devastated, the Blacksmiths were still very much a unified force and I needed to deal with them to get them to come work for mills and foundries. That was going to be annoying.

So very annoying.

Then there was also the logistical crap I had to deal with to make sure that enough ores were being supplied to the steel mills. Thankfully, the stormlands were close enough and had reasonable enough mountains that probably held ores and it just so happened the Lord Paramount was my cousin and one of my best friends, so there was probably some good old nepotism would come in useful to working out some kind of deal.

If not that, then I had other plans in mind to get me my ores.

Outside the Arsenal, the budding town was blanketed in white as a fearsome snow storm had struck the crownlands that had made trouble rather difficult since you could only see nothing but white in front of you. I had planned on touring the Arsenal and town earlier, but unfortunately, the storm had made me change my plans.

"Why do you have to be such a child?"

And the first thing I hear coming out of the Arsenal, tugging my furs closer to my body to keep warm, was Ryam standing over Harry.

My younger squire was in the process of making a snowman, but the snow sculpture happened to be missing eyes, a mouth and a nose. Probably because there seemed to be a lack of stones and a carrot not in sight.

"I don't see how making a snowman makes me a child." Harry replied as he smoothed down some rough edges. "And if you haven't realised, we are children."

The rest of my company that had escorted me to Aegondale looked on at the two young men argue amongst themselves in amusement.

"We are squires for a prince and here you are, acting like a child. I'm embarrassed for you."

Harry snorted. "Then be as embarrassed as much as you want. I'm still making my snowman."

I shook my head as I looked over at Jon Tides, the closest thing that I had a mayor who oversaw the town. "How long have they been going at his?"

Jon Tides bowed at my presence before standing up straight. "The moment you stepped inside, your grace." His eyes drifted to the entrance of the great work house before coming back to rest on me. "Is everything as you expected?"

I smiled. "Better than I expected."

Tides smiled widely at that and bowed again. "I promise on my name that I will continue to be diligent in the duties that you have given me, your grace."

When I had been in search of someone to oversee the daily running of Aegondale, Duncan had directed me towards this man. Lean and homely, there was nothing really eye catching or remarkable about the man, but Duncan had informed me that the man had been working for him for more than a decade and was more than capable enough.

The Tides were minor nobility in King's Landing with the only land that they had to their name being the land that their manse was built upon. Apparently, they could trace their lineage all the way back to Driftmark, which probably meant that they had Valyrian heritage from the Velaryons or something like that.

In that regard, they had set up shop in King's Landing when Aegon the Conqueror built the city in the hopes of greater wealth that they couldn't probably find on Driftmark. In the past three hundred years, they had built themselves a steady reputation of being diligent workers in the royal bureaucracy.

He didn't actually need to escort me around town, but he had insisted on the matter and I didn't have the heart to turn him down.

"I would expect nothing more of it, Jon. The storm must have put some difficulty on your daily operations."

Jon frowned. "Some difficulty, but we overcame them easily enough. Although if the storm had continued on for any longer, we might have been in trouble."

"One can only hope that this winter isn't a long one and that spring comes quickly." Fuck Westeros and it's fucking weird weather. I turned towards Gwayne my eternal shadow and gave him a signal to get the men ready to leave. I had seen enough.

Before we left or before I had even gotten on my horse, two guardsmen made their approach towards me, escorting a man between the two of them. They bowed when they came close. "Your grace, apparently, this man wishes to speak with you." One of them said, and I think his name was Wilks if I remembered correctly.

Jon narrowed his eyes somewhat on the man. "On what subject?"

"We asked, but he kept saying something about it being a matter of urgency and that the prince knows him." Wilks replied before his eyes narrowed on the man. "Me and Wal thought he was talking nonsense, but he wouldn't go away. We searched him and he wasn't armed so we decided to bring him here to you, keeping an eye on him of course in case he tries any nonsense."

"I don't know this man." Jon admitted turning on me. "I may not know all of the inhabitants of the town, but I have yet to receive any reports of any homeless. There's enough housing in the town for every worker and we still have spare room, so I can certainly voucher that he is not from Aegondale."

The town steward seemed pretty sure of himself, but looking over the man, there was some familiarity about him that I just couldn't place.

The fact that half of his gaunt face seemed to be covered with a bushy beard wasn't really helping me come to identify him in the slightest. From the slight narrowing of Gwayne's eyes that I could see, I think he felt the same as me on the familiarity.

I cocked my head slightly to the side. "I feel like I should know you. Perhaps we have come across each other before? Even for a moment."

"Your grace, it's me." His voice was hoarse and definitely familiar but I still couldn't put a face to a name.

"I'm going to need more than that." I told the man.

The bearded man dropped to the floor straight onto his knees. That would have hurt on the cobbled street but thankfully, the snow had absorbed much of the impact.

The sudden random action of the man had caused the two guardsmen that had escorted him to put hands on their blades and Gwayne to take a step forward and place a hand in front of me, hand raised on the hilt of his own sword. The other guardsmen and my squires had also taken note and were looking at the situation with interest.

"It's me, your grace." He repeated again. "Serret."

I think me and Gwayne blinked at the same time. I walked around Gwayne and crouched down to get a good look on the man and holy crap, it was him. "...How are you still alive?" I asked after a moment of taking all this in. I had been working on the assumption that all the alchemists had died in the fire.

The wisdom licked at his cold lips, seemingly embarrassed about something. "Me and some of my colleagues were not at our guild hall at the time of the accident. We were out enjoying...delightful companionship."

"Whoring." I remarked dryly. I shook my head before standing up and pulling the alchemist to his feet. "You said you and your colleagues, how many of them are left?"

"Less than a dozen, your grace. It was only some of the more prominent acolytes and wisdoms." He answered. "There is only me left, your grace. The others worried about their very lives, sailed for the Free Cities."

"And you stayed?" Gwayne asked tautly from behind me.

Serret nodded his head slowly, his shoulders slumped as if he had the weight of the world upon his shoulders. "The guilt..." He said slowly.

I shook my head and looked towards Jon. "I hope you wouldn't mind if you gave us a spare horse do you? I know this man. And I would rather like to keep him close for now."

Jon looked away from Serret to me and nodded. "Of course your grace, I'll have someone fetch you one right now." He answered before quickly walking away towards one of his own staff that he had brought along with him.

"Your grace," Serret began quietly. "You should know..."

"Shh..." I cut him off. Eyes taking in my surroundings and the attention the guardsmen had placed on us. They had sworn oaths to serving House Targaryen, but this was Westeros, good, honest people were probably an endangered species. "Now is not the time nor the place."

Definitely not the time or the place to talk about the fire. The official story was that it was the Blackfyres and if I had anything to do with it, that as going to be the official story. I didn't need anybody lynching Serret if it was to be discovered that the alchemists had been involved in some way.

The man was useful and perhaps he had something of note to tell me. He could possibly tell me of anything strange or strange people that had been spotted before the accident. Something that could possibly give me a clue to where to start investigating about the instigators.

In truth, I didn't have much faith in finding anything out, even if Serret had information that I could use. By now, either the people directly involved in the plot were dead or long gone.

And I didn't have the benefit of CCTV or anything like that.

Harry walked up to me, Ryam beside him. The Wendwater youth seemed to be staring in the direction of the main road that led from Aegondale to the capital. "Your grace, I think I see a rider heading our way."

Turning my head, I could see a figure riding hard for us. "Most likely a royal messenger from the capital. He's certainly eager to get here as quickly as he can though. Never seen anyone ride so hard before. It's almost as if he believes the Stranger is right on his tail." Ryam noted.

And the Reyne squire had a point. The guy was riding awfully hard and did seem to be in something of a hurry. Gwayne ordered some of the guardsmen to move forward and stop the rider just in case.

The two guardsmen acknowledged their orders before making their way to block the path of the rider. as he neared one of them held out a hand, palm facing out to halt him. I was a bit worried that the guy was riding to quickly to stop, but thankfully, he was able to pull up his horse quick enough to slow down to a trot before stopping completely in front of the guardsmen.

"Who goes there?" One of the guardsmen asked.

The rider ignored him completely as he looked around the group looking for someone by the looks of it, his horse breathing heavily from the work it had done. "Where is Prince Aerys? I have a message from the king for his eyes only!"

"Right here." I announced myself as I made my way towards him. "Must be an important message then for you to be in such a hurry." The messenger searched for something in his pack before pulling out a letter for me. Taking the letter, I pried it open and began to read it through. "Oh bugger me sideways." I said after a moment.

"Your grace?" Gwayne asked after me.

I sighed as I crunched up the letter in my hand. "For what it's worth Ryam," I began slowly, dreading what would be the reaction to what I was about to tell him. "I'm sorry." 

**xXx**


	28. Chapter 28

**xXx**

Bullshitting I am not, but there had been an honest to gods dead pool on the situation in the westerlands. Some lords and ladies had money on the Lannisters. Others on the Tarbecks and Reynes.

Needless to say, the odds were firmly stacked against the Lannisters and if I had known that there was a bet running around, I would have put a lot of money on the Lannisters winning. I know. A horrible thing to do, but I might as well use my out of context knowledge to get me some more monies.

I was a horrible person that occasionally tries to convince himself that he is a good person. I was still trying to work on that.

Not long after the people that were actually in the need to know part of the court had learned of the situation, the other people that thought they were important but not really all that important had come to learn of the critical existence failure of the Tarbecks and Reynes.

All in it's gruesome and grisly manner, especially for the unlucky sons of bitches that had been the Reynes.

Now in the twenty-first century, what Tywin did would be considered a full on war crime. I mean, I would be straight on the boat of condemnation. I mean, think of all the children that had found their lives washed away in those mines.

Here? In Westeros? The number of people that felt morally outraged at such an action could pretty much be counted with one hand. The rest? Well, this was nothing more than par the course for a rebellious vassal.

Tywin was a monster. And I was friends with this guy.

"Did Reynard, at the very least offer terms of surrender?" Egg asked, looking older than the last time I remembered him. Either he didn't age well, or this was difficult news for him to take since he had taken particular interest in how Tywin was raised as a page of the court. Remember that small list of people that would care? Yeah? Egg would be among their number.

We were in the small council chambers. Me, Duncan, Egg, Betha and Ser Joffrey. I couldn't particularly explain my reason for being here other than the fact that I currently had the wrong kind of lion underneath my care, but the rest I could.

Duncan was Hand of the King. Betha was queen and had helped look after Tywin as he grew into his role as a page of the court back when he had first arrived. And Ser Joffrey because he was the one who had come to learn of the situation in the westerlands before anyone else.

He was the master of whisperers for a reason.

Actually, I was rather interested in this as well. My knowledge on that part of Westeros history was iffy and I was curious. From what Ryam had said about this guy, he was apparently the smartest person in the entirety of the westerlands, let alone Westeros.

Then again, Ryam was a prideful little shit and I took everything he said with a wallop of salt.

Ser Joffrey ran through some papers before he answered the question of his king. "Lord Reynard offered terms."

The queen's dark eyes shifted from Egg to the knight, worry being replaced by interest. "I take it they weren't good terms then?"

"Reynard offered peace in return, Tywin send Kevan and Tygett Lannister as hostages to be fostered at Castamere."

If I was currently drinking something I would have probably spit it out. I mean, what? I thought this Reynard fellow was supposed to be smart. He was surrounded and he was the one offering terms that didn't even reflect the situation that he was in?

I know refuge in audacity is a thing and all, but really, what?

Duncan must have been as incredulous as me by the way he spoke. "I would hardly describe them as terms. Did they think so much of themselves? I may not agree of how Tywin handled the situation, but from everything that we come to learn of the Reynes, some may say they were let off far too easily."

"The Reynes, yes." Egg said, rising from the king's seat. "But Reynes weren't the only people in Castamere, Duncan. I should have been firmer or at the very least, removed Tytos from his position as Warden of the West and Lord Paramount of the westerlands. Ser Jason might have been better served in that role until Tywin came of an age." He paced to the window and looked out over the Blackwater Bay. "The terms, did Tywin reply with his own?"

Ser Joffrey shook his head. "Not to my knowledge, your grace. From what I understand, not long after he had read them, he already had his man begin work to reroute the river into Castamere."

Perhaps Egg's shoulders dropped ever so slightly, but I wasn't sure, but they did seem like the shoulders of a weary old man who happened to be tired of it all.

The queen rose up from her own seat and made her way to her husband. "Egg..." Betha spoke up softly, placing a hand on her husband's shoulder. "You did as much as you could. You might be king, but there's only so much that you can do in your power. Unfortunately, another situation has risen from this." She finished, her eyes shifting towards myself.

"Ryam." I said without prompt. I know what this was going to be about.

Betha nodded her head. "There are many a ways to put down a rebellious vassal or house. Some of the more merciful lords would have the lord of the house executed or sent to the wall. It seems Tywin is the other type of lord. The type that prefers to destroy house, both root and stem."

Duncan shook his head, voice in disbelief. "I always knew there was a certain darkness to him, but I didn't think to the extent that it is."

"I doubt anyone would have seen this coming."

Apart from me, because I knew this had been coming and I didn't stop it. Why? Because the butterflies that's why. All of my knowledge of the future was based on events that had come to pass.

Something I watched on TV once came to mind. An episode of from Doctor Who or something. The Doctor had tried to explain to one of his companions of why some things can be changed and why some things are simply 'time-locked' or some other bullshit to explain why this had to go this particular way it went.

And I happened to be using this very same excuse. Unfortunately, I didn't even know which events were 'time-locked' and which weren't. In other words, just to keep my knowledge of the future relevant to give me the edge that I need, despite the changes that I had already made, I, at the very least wanted to keep things marginally the same, or as the same to canon as possible.

In other words, I could have asked Tywin to take it easy on the Reynes, but who knows how that could have messed with the timeline? More than I have already done.

"I'll speak to Ryam." I eventually said. I didn't know how to breech the subject considering the stunt he had pulled when he had come to learn of what had happened to his family. "And I'll think of a way to handle Tywin."

That's what I said, but I had no idea how to handle Tywin. Why? Because Tywin had a serious ego-slash-pride problem. I doubt when he had decided to wipe out the Reynes (and no, that wasn't any sort of attempt at a pun), he had planned for any of them to survive.

No doubt that he was going to try and kill Ryam the first chance that he got. Even if Tywin didn't want to kill Ryam because of his own personal problems, my young squire seemed amicable to the idea of getting himself killed by in turn, wanting to kill Tywin for the 'crimes' that he had done his family.

I wasn't exactly interested in telling him that his family were rebel scum mostly because some of those rebel scum probably didn't have a choice in the matter.

Probably the reason why I procrastinated on making an actual decision of what to do about Ryam.

"Do you think Tywin went too far?" I asked Branda, genuinely curious. From a modern perspective, what Tywin did was horrendous. He would be vilified to hell and back, then back to hell again.

But from a feudal sense and the crap sack world that was Westeros? One could honestly say he was justified in doing the shit that he did. The Reynes and the Tarbecks had overstepped themselves more than any other lord would have allowed and thus got their just desserts.

And me being here long enough made it easy for me to understand that line of thought. I just felt sorry for the third parties that weren't involved in that particular families stupidity. In other words, the castle staff such as servants and the likes.

I felt more pity for them than the Reynes. Like I said, they got what was coming to them, I just would have liked to think that Tywin would have been a bit more considerate.

But then again, this was Tywin 'Order the rape of a teenage girl to teach your dwarf son a lesson' Lannister here. I doubt he was considerate of silly little things such as the lives of mere servants. I don't even think they came to mind at all.

My wife was busy playing with my hair whilst my head rested on her lap. I hoped she wasn't braiding it. "There's this old crumbling castle in the north called the Wolf's Den. It serves no purpose now other than that of a prison." I slowly nodded my head, trying my best not to hamper whatever it is that she is doing with my hair. She continued speaking. "Once upon a time, the Wolf's Den happened to be the seat of a cadet branch of House Stark."

"Like the Karstarks?" I asked, impulsively.

I think I saw some surprise in her eyes from my question, but she nodded her head nonetheless. "Yes. Like the Karstarks, although it's a question for the maesters to know which house is older, the Karstarks or the Greystarks." She shook her head for a slight moment. "But back to the story, the Wolf's Den was home to the Greystarks, distant kin of mine own. We lived happily enough amongst each other for five centuries, before they rose up in rebellion along with House Bolton."

She stopped and I could feel her gaze upon me. I shifted my eyes to glance up at her and found her own grey-slightly-blue eyes locking onto mine. "The Stark in Winterfell at the time presumed to destroy the branch. There is nothing left of them anymore." She then went back to playing with my hair with a slight shrug of the shoulder. "Although it's unclear as to how the Stark 'destroyed' the Greystarks. He could have done what Tywin did, rip the tree, both root and stem. Or he could have shown mercy and sent the men to the wall and the women married off to loyal lordlings or sent to the silent sisters."

I was quiet for a moment before asking a question. "Has anyone made a claim to the Wolf's Den then? Through blood or other means?"

"Not to my knowledge that I know off."

I grimaced. Then by the sounds of it, the Greystarks had met the same fate as the Reynes. Or maybe not, she did say they could have been sent to the silent sisters. That seemed just as likely and more of a safe bet than marrying them off to someone who could make a claim to the castle.

But weren't the silent sisters a Faith thing? How did that work with the old gods?

"Funny that House Bolton is still around then, considering what the Stark did to his distant kin. Don't the Boltons regularly rebel?" And I'm sure I read somewhere that they also, occasionally, make coats or something out of Stark skin.

Why would they keep them around for such a thing?

I think I felt Branda's finger tighten around my hair before she relaxed some more. "The Boltons...are probably the second most powerful house in the north. The Manderlys more than likely compete with them for that position."

"How does that explain why they are still around?"

"Because fighting a prolonged rebellion against the Boltons would have be more disastrous for both sides than good. Don't get me wrong, we would have won at the end of it. It's just that the Boltons also happened to have been smart enough to bend the knee first when they realized that that rebellion was not going to work as they thought it would. That, and the fact they made sure to marry themselves into as many other prominent houses as they could. Allies like that can do a whole load of good."

So the Reynes had done goofed up because they didn't make any strategic marriages? They didn't have other people like the Tarbecks to back them up or make a case for them in terms of leniency?

Now that I think about it, considering their entire attitude, I wouldn't be surprised if they had alienated most of their fellow westermen.

"Never knew I was marrying into a family of hard-asses."

"Every house, small or large, has the blood of innocents on their hands Aerys." She said, scoffing. "Many houses have ended the lines of other houses through one way or another. Don't forget, House Targaryen also ended the line of House Hoare. We all have blood on our hands Aerys, some more than others, but blood nonetheless."

"I know that. My problem is, I care too much."

She laughed then. Not like the sort of laugh you would hear from a lady of high standing, but a full, blown out laugh like she had just heard the world's funniest joke.

She wiped away a tear, her eyes glistening. "Aerys, you are many things. A caring man is something you are most certainly not. You might tell yourself that, but you really are not." She planted a kiss on my forehead, probably as something of an apology at the look of annoyance on my face. "But that doesn't stop you from trying. That's good. Most people who don't care, just never try, at the very least, you try."

"I suppose, at the end of the day, that is all that matters." 

**xXx**

Eventually, I manned up and decided to face my squire who had been recently made an orphan. Now considering that he had done something stupid earlier on when I had told him the news, I had to send him to his room without dinner.

And to stop him from doing any more stupid things, I made sure that he had been tied to his bed post with Harry keeping a watch on him. By the looks of things, he didn't seem happy about his current status.

He tugged roughly at the rope that kept him within his chambers. "Release me!"

"Ryam!" Harry let out in aghast, before his tone of voice took on a more chiding note. "That's not how you speak to royalty. Show some respect."

Ryam's glare turned from me towards Harry and credit to him, Harry didn't back down from the glare as he didn't yield from the stare down.

"I'll show some respect when he stops treating me like some kind of dog!" He tugged again the rope, this time, with enough force to make the bed move slightly. That was pretty impressive. "Let me go, I have to go avenge my family!"

I sighed as I shook my head. "Ryam, that's a one way trip. You'll die."

"As long as I kill Tywin, it matters not."

Well, that was fine and everything, but I really couldn't allow such a thing. I glanced over at my other squire. "Harry, leave us alone for a moment, would you?"

Harry looked at me for a moment before his eyes turned towards Ryam before nodding his head and making for the exit. When I heard the door softly close shut, I returned my attention back to this particular lion in front of me.

"How do you plan on killing Tywin exactly? He has thousands of men under his command. His an accomplished knight. No matter how I look at it, you will just end blindly marching to your death."

"It doesn't matter!" Ryam snarled, eyes glistening with tears threatening to fall. "He killed my family! Father, Mother, Robert, Jeyne..." He started sobbing then and I realised this was nothing more than a twelve year old kid who had lost everyone dear to him. The Reynes were cunts, but they were still his family. "I have to do something..."

Oh great. How do I handle this situation then?

I rubbed at the side of my head in thought. "Why don't you try living then?" I suggested as a different course of action other than going out and getting himself killed first chance he got.

Using a hand, Ryam quickly wiped away at the tears that had been falling out of his eyes. "As if I have that choice now." He sniffed before eyeing me with suspicion and accusatory eyes. "I suppose you are keeping me here for Tywin to finish the task he had started? I would have thought you more honourable than that. At the very least, give me a sword so I can die with steel in my hand."

Was he forgetting that Tywin was a knight and a probably a more capable swordsman than him? And why was he so sure that Tywin would face him in combat?

If it was me, I would just shoot him with a crossbow, safe out of his range, and be done with it.

"I'm not offering you to Tywin." I told him as I pulled up a chair and took a seat. "You are my squire. Don't forget that. If I offered you to Tywin, that would look rather bad for me. Which also means you going on a suicide mission to kill someone would still somehow impact me and I don't want that."

"So what then? What do you intend to do with me?"

"Believe it or not, I have a thing against killing children. And that's what you are, a child. Tywin might be my friend." I was very much debating that at the moment. I liked to think whatever friendship that had been fostered between me and him was borne of Aerys and me being smart enough to keep Tywin close. "But me handing you over to him would mean that I also have responsibility in your not so surprising death. In other words, I'm going to be keeping you until you are not a child and at the very least, can look after yourself. Although I do have some words of suggestion though."

"Like what?"

I began to list of my suggestions. "Probably best that you learn to cook your own food. Buy or hunt your own ingredients. Never go walking alone at night or be alone ever. Don't go hunting. Quite a few people die from hunting 'accidents' every year and you probably don't want to be one of those. Keep Harry as close as possible, cause I think he's the only friend that you have and friends are going to be a very rare commodity for you, especially ones that you can trust. Maybe, just maybe, if you do all that, you might very well survive your teenage years."

"I'm not scared of dying. Tywin should be scared of me. I'm going to kill him. Him and every Lannister."

I rolled my eyes. If it was me, I would place the blame on Tywin alone, but families here tended to band together when someone does them a great injustice or wrong or something. So I suppose killing every Lannister was smart on Ryam's part. If he kills Tywin, Kevan or Tygett might very well decide to come after him in revenge to avenge Tywin.

Didn't they have a sister?

"Yeah, well, there's a load of Lannisters. Quite a few. Certainly more than any Reynes now." I stopped and looked at Ryam who was giving me the evils. "...Too early?"

Ryam huffed as he turned away from me to look through the window. "What do you gain from helping me? I don't believe it's simply because you think it's your duty just because you are my master. You can easily sent me off to the wall and not have to worry about your standing and honour being questioned."

"I told you, you are a child and sending you to the wall might as well be a death sentence. I would genuinely be surprised if you lasted more than a month."

Tywin would probably sent a cat's paw to join the Night's Watch with a massive incentive of some kind to kill Ryam. He would then either find a way to spirit said cat's paw, if he's not caught, away from the wall to wherever or it might be a one way trip with the incentive being said cat's paws family get a nice healthy amount of gold to live from.

The same could be said about everything else. The Faith and the maesters.

"Even if you do this, I'm not going to thank you."

"I'm not looking for your thanks." I rose from my seat. "Until you calm down, you are going to be stuck in here with Harry. Ser Gwayne will also keep a look out for you. And I'll have a food tester check your food. And I'm doing all this, because I care."

"Until I'm a man grown."

I smiled. "Now you are getting it."

Leaving Ryam's current prison, I ran into Harry. Not going to lie, with the way the kid was looking at me with those big eyes of his, I was sure he was trying the whole puppy dog look thing.

Fortunately, things like that never seemed to affect me in any meaningful manner.

"Is Ryam going to be okay?" He asked and I was vindicated in the thought that I had been correct in assessing Harry as the closest thing Ryam had to a friend.

"Worried about him?" I asked.

He shrugged, looking down to the floor. "I know he's a bit difficult sometimes, but he's alright...sometimes." Well, that was probably an opinion that was shared by himself and only him. "Things aren't going to be easy for him, are they?"

I shook my head. "Sadly, no."

"Is he going to die?" He asked with all the eleven year old knowledge he could muster.

I sighed. How do I tell a kid that his best friend was a dead man? Maybe not now, but definitely in the future.

"We are all going to die someday, Harry. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday, the Stranger will be knocking on your door and there's really nothing we can do about it. Sometimes, it's just our time."

Harry had asked a genuine question, and here I was, trying to answer by being philosophical as fuck. I could have given him a straight answer, but I didn't have the heart to tell him Ryam was now definitely one of the most screwed people in the entirety of the world.

That, even with the protection his status as my squire afforded him, he had a massive blinking target written right on his back and anyone with the balls or the desperation to gain Tywin's favour wouldn't care about his status and make a go for him either way.

"In all honesty Harry, Ryam's fucked."

And unfortunately for him, I doubted lube was a thing in Westeros. 

**xXx**


	29. Chapter 29

The bowstring made a sound as the arrow was loosed and sailed through the air towards it's target. I watched the flight of the arrow and continued to do so as it buried itself into the centre of the target at the end of the range.

"Huh," I whistled, rather impressed. Without looking, I handed Harry another arrow. "Do that again."

My young squire shrugged and took the arrow of me and strung it up on his bow. It was a relatively new bow, a bow that wasn't seen all that much in Westeros. Black in coloring, with the limbs curving away from the archer.

In other words, it was a recurve bow. Something not at all that seen in Westeros apart from the occasional foreign sellsword.

It also happened to be made out of dragonbone. So it was already marginally better than every other bow out there.

Harry strung up the arrow and then proceeded to take aim down the range once more. He steadied his breathing before loosing the arrow with a swift whoosh and a twang of the bowstring as it travelled through the air, a blur to the eyes. Like the other before, it burrowed itself into the target.

I studied the target once more before giving him a good pat on the back. "It seems like you are about as good with the bow as you said you were."

Harry looked up at me. "You didn't believe me?"

"I might have been sceptical. Congratulations though, you proved me wrong." I looked over to my other squire. "Anything to add, Ryam?"

Ryam looked over to the target down the range then back to Harry, then his eyes trailed down to the bow made out of one of the rarest things in the world. He then promptly shrugged. "My grandmother could have made that shot. Without the needing of a bow like that."

I think we all rolled our eyes. His angsting was justified, but really, was he not taking to heart my words about him not having any friends apart from Harry? Because he really should.

"You think could do that from horse back?" I asked, turning my attention towards Harry instead of the other one that seemed to want to wallow in his own self misery.

Harry took on a thoughtful expression. "I-I don't know. Maybe, with some practice."

"It will be difficult." I agreed with a nod. "But I think if you put in enough hours in the yard, then you will be fine. Why don't you start off slow, with the horse whilst on a canter?"

"You are serious?"

I crossed my arms. "I'm more than serious. You probably won't be the only one running around the yard in the coming future. Probably you and couple hundred other guys if I can get it right."

Ryam pecked up his ears at that. "A couple hundred?" He asked.

"Probably. I want to aim for a hundred at the moment." I tussled Harry's hair much to his displeasure. "Around his age at the very least. Maybe younger. Got to start them young."

"Why?"

That was a good question, but unfortunately for him, I wasn't going to give him an answer. "One of the perks of being royalty is that I can do strange things and people won't question me about them." Unless I start burning people alive for no particular reason, but I don't think I was at that level just yet. I turned my attention back to Harry. "Better go get yourself a horse and get a move on. I'm expecting a lot of things you."

He nodded and then tried to hand me back the dragonbone bow. I shook my head and pushed it back into his chest. "No. Keep it. It's your now."

The beaming smile on his face was absolutely adorable and watching Harry scramble off towards the stables was rather amusing. Now that I had my first recruit to what was essentially going to be a long term project of mine, I now had to find someone who knew what they were doing when it came to horse archer tactics.

I don't think Westeros had any sort of hose archers, if mounted crossbowmen were not considered that part of the equation. Although I was of the mind that reloading a crossbow on horse-back sounded somewhat absurd.

I already had asked Ser Joffrey in regards of approaching the sons of hunters to come into my employ. Or hunters in general to teach some of the more able orphans that had been brought to my notice the use of the bow and horsemanship.

I could see it now, the 1st Royal Dragoons. With Harry as the commanding officer of course. I did promise his father some sort of position if he impressed and he impressed enough with his skill of the bow, although his skill with a sword left much to be desired.

But since he had training with how to use a sword, he was already markedly better than most of the population in Westeros. Don't know about Essos though, but I wasn't really planning on that particular unit to be involved in any form of close combat unless they can help it.

"Harry get's a dragonbone bow." Ryam noted with some bitterness in his voice. "So what gift do I receive? Or is my gift the knowledge that I will be able to live a little longer underneath your magnanimous care?"

I levelled a look in his direction. "Well, if that's going to be your attitude, then yes, that is going to be my gift to you. Gods kid, it's not that bad."

That was a horrible lie. For Ryam, it was that bad. Some could even say worse. Probably worse. Definitely worse.

And by the look he was giving me, he certainly knew the truth of that. I had to give it to him though, when he wasn't busy angsting and raging against the world, he took all that rage and anger and turned it into something productive in the training yard.

He really went into it. He would challenge other squires to melees that would most likely end when someone had to step in to stop someone from getting killed. I had to stop him from doing that and assigning Ser Gwayne to be the guy in charge of his martial training.

At the very least, he wasn't going to be knocking Ser Gwayne into any kind of coma any time soon.

He had a talent for the sword, that was for sure, but Gwayne wasn't a Kingsguard knight for no reason. And the truth was, practicing with Gwayne might very well come in handy in the future when whatever protection he had as my squire ran out.

It was also nice that he had taken my advice of cooking his own food, although his first few tries had been horrendous to say the very least.

Still though, the kid had to be given some kind of apropos for taking everything as well as he did.

I turned and began to lead him away from the range. "Come on, I'm sure I can find someone for you to beat bloody senseless."

That seemed to be the only things that could cheer him up lately. 

Joanna Lannister was beautiful.

She did things to the depths of my belly that I did not appreciate. She had long blonde hair that was almost gold, green eyes that could be mistaken for emeralds and a delicate, beautiful nature about her that made me want to do all sorts of things.

In other words, she was someone I really shouldn't be alone with, considering the fact that Aerys came out whenever she was within my presence. I had to control myself quite a lot to stop myself from making an idiot out of myself, especially now that I had a northern wife, who had her father and cousins in the castle. Who in turn, would beat the living shit out of me if I dishonoured her in any way or form.

In other words, she was my sort of kryptonite.

"Aerys." Her smile radiated like a lone star in the inky blackness of space when she greeted me. And when she curtsied, I may have taken a peak down the cleavage window on her dress.

I'm weak, leave me alone.

I smiled in return. "My lady, a pleasure to run into you on this fine afternoon."

She had an impish smile on her face as her eyes darted towards the window. "It's cloudy and grey, Aerys. Not as fine as you think."

I looked out the window and noticed, that yes, the sky was cloudy and grey. Fuck, she was even making it difficult for my brain to work. Dammit.

Wait, was Harry still outside practicing shooting from horse-back? Oh, I hope it didn't rain. I should probably send someone to get his ass inside the castle. Don't want someone to complain about him catching a chill.

"In my defence, it was sunny and bright earlier on." I said in defence of myself. I honestly thought that winter was slowly coming to an end and it couldn't have happened at a better time.

But I wasn't stupid enough to fall for the same trick twice. Weather in Westeros was weird. It snowed so much that snow could blanket everything around you in white for miles on end. Then, all of a sudden, you would wake up to one fine, bright and sunny day. And that pattern fo weather would happen for like a weak, melting everything in site.

Then the snow would come again.

I think it had been touched on before, but it was bloody weird.

"That it was." She replied with a good-hearted smirk. In her defence though, when she saw one of my two companions who was more than likely glaring at her inhumanly beautiful person, her good nature didn't at all drop. She was even nice enough to give him a slight nod of acknowledgement. "Lord Reyne."

Okay, maybe a slight mocking acknowledgement.

By now, it was common knowledge that Ryam was a lord of nothing, having all his families lands and incomes attainted. So he was just about as much as a lord that Davos was a knight back in canon. And to throw salt into the wound? His families lands were awarded to Tywin's brother Kevan.

Instead of the Reynes of Castamere. It was now the Lannisters of Castamere. The same could be said about Tarbeck Hall, that one, Tywin awarded to Tygett.

I shifted slightly to bar Ryam's path to Joanna. I didn't need him giving reason to Tywin to fuck him up even more than he was likely going to do when his apprenticeship underneath my tender care ended by doing something stupid to his betrothed that he actually and genuinely cared about.

So I guess you might get my surprise when he smiled pleasantly at Joanna and greeted her with a rather courtly bow at the waist. "Good tidings to you, my lady of Lannister."

I think that must have caught Joanna off, just by a bit as her eyes might have widened slightly. Didn't stop her from being completely genial though. "How are you faring today? Not too badly I hope considering the news that came in from the west."

Man, the passive-aggressiveness was strong in her. I don't think she appreciated it all that much her father being held hostage by Ryam's aunt.

"My family was rebellious scum. They deserved everything that was given to them." Ryam replied, speaking of his dead family as if he was talking about the weather. "Hopefully, I can eventually remove the stain on my family's name in service to Prince Aerys."

If I could, I would have taken a side step just to have a good view of what exactly was going on here. Apparently, Ryam had just gotten over his family's death just like that. Which was bullshit considering he had been emo-ing just a few minutes ago.

So he was obviously putting on a strong front in front of someone that he probably thought of as an enemy.

Joanna's eyes drifted away from the young squire to me. "Yes, I suppose that's all one can hope for in service to royalty." She curtsied once more. "Good day to you, Prince Aerys, Lord Reyne, Ser Gwayne." She finished before walking past us.

I watched her go, more accurately, her rear. Once again, I'm a weak human being, or more likely, Aerys was weak for Joanna. I needed to find a way to have Rhaella pack her off to the westerlands because I really don't think it was at all healthy for me to keep her around.

But first.

"Ryam?"

"Hm?"

"You suck."

Little shit knew I was neutral or at the very least, trying to be neutral in his ongoing one-sided, feud with the Lannisters and he just went and dropped my name like it was nothing. And in the way that he did? Yeah, the little shit sucked. 

The Quicksilver had attracted quite the attention when it had sailed down the Rush and into the bay. Why wouldn't it? No-one had seen such a ship like that before. It was bound to attract all sorts of gawkers and on-lookers.

Then it was no surprise that it had attracted more on-lookers when it made it's way back into port.

"Two days!" Caeleb Celtigar bellowed as he walked down the gang plank, making a bee-line straight for me. "It took us two days to reach Pentos and then just over a day to return!" He shook his head when he stopped in front of me. He turned his head back to face the Quicksilver, in all of it's glory. "I've never heard of a ship that can move so fast. We recorded thirteen knots on the journey to Pentos, then fifteen back! Amazing! This must be the fastest ship in the known world."

Then he got a hold of himself before bowing at my presence. "Pardon my rudeness, your grace."

I raised him up with a hand. "No it's nothing. I'm just glad that you seem to be raving about her. She's a fine one, isn't she?"

"More than fine your grace." Caeleb said, twisting at the braided thing he called a beard. "This ship moves faster than any other ship that I know off. I don't even think that the swan ships of the Summer Islanders can even match her."

Better than the swan ships of the Summer Islanders? That was good to know. They probably rivalled against Braavos when it came to having the best ships and against the Braavos and the ironborn when it comes to being excellent sailors. Now I just had to think of some way to use these ships to make a hearty profit for me and the crown.

Now how would I do that?

I could remember something about the clipper being used to make runs to China for something. I think it was tea and...opium? Not that I was particularly interested in going into the drug business, it was probably something to look into. The tea, not the opium. I'm not that horrible.

Wait, where did our tea come from? Maybe I could use the clippers to ferry tea at a faster rate than anybody else can.

Actually, maybe something like a mail service? I know the nobility used ravens, what about the rich folk who wanted to sent mail to other people on the other side of the continent or across the sea. How did they sent their mail?

"Huh, I think it's about time a Royal Mail was created." I muttered to myself aloud.

Caeleb looked at me in confusion. "Your grace?" He asked.

I smiled disarmingly. "Oh it's nothing. I think I just found a way to make ships of her class a rather profitable venture for us. Speaking of which, how did it go with your other task?"

Caeleb's countenance took on a more serious aura about it. "I asked some questions and I learned much. Dragonbone is certainly a valued material, many willing to pay a chest full of gold's ransom to have such a thing in their own position. Anything ranging from a comb, to a brooch to a necklace."

I think the grin that was threatening to come across my face would have been completely and utterly shit eating in nature. I had a shit tonne of dragonbone, sure, I was reserving some for more important use, but that still left me with a bunch of dragonbone that needed to be used in one way or another.

So why not profit for House Targaryen?

"So brooches and the likes are valued?" I asked.

The Celtigar scion nodded his head. "Aye, but the most valued of them all would be a bow made of dragonbone. Such bows even outrange the bows made of goldenheart."

Goldenheart bows that originate from the Summer Islands. If I remember correctly, no-one apart from Summer Islanders actually owned such things. They never sold them to any foreigners and they were highly coveted because they were pretty powerful things, able to outrange pretty much everything.

Everything except for dragonbone bows.

And said dragonbone bows were highly sought after and valued.

This was nice to know. So very nice to know.

I smiled and hooked an arm around Caeleb Celtigar as I began to lead him towards the horses. "I think I might have another task for you, my lord..."


	30. Chapter 30

**xXx**

 **1st Month 262AC  
**  
Dealing with Gormon Tyrell was something I hadn't particularly being looking forward to for the entire week. In fact, I like to consider the fact that I had dealt with the man more times than I would like. Couldn't the Citadel at the very least, sent another archmaester or something to oversee this bullshit?

Why did it have to be Gormon Tyrell?

Don't get me wrong, I had nothing against the guy. If anything, he seemed to be well suited to his title as archmaester, which he may or may not have bought with Tyrell gold or his name alone.

The good thing was that at the very least, he was nice enough to actually come in during the time that he had been booked in for. I was trying out a little something called appointments. It got tedious having to deal with a random person waiting for me outside what had bene designated as the 'Crown Prince's Office'.

Sure, there were some people that had yet to get the idea that unless it is a life or death matter, I had a secretary and two squires that are more than willing to write you into the appointment book, but that number had been decreasing steadily enough over the past few months. It also helped that I had something of a budging personal bureaucracy that dealt with all the bullshit that wasn't important enough for me to deal with.

I wonder if Westeros has coffee? I wasn't a particularly coffee man, never could stand the test, but apparently, it woke you up or gave you a quick perk and listening to Gormon Tyrell ramble on and on, I needed nothing more than a pick me up.

I smiled throughout the entire rambling. He was busy extolling the virtues of some maester or another for being the head of the...what was it again? Ah yes, some maester for being the head of the alchemy department of the school that existed physically but still had yet to receive it's first students.

The call had been made and I had received tentative replies from crownlander lords like the Brunes, Buckwells, Celtigars, Masseys, Bar Emmons among many others. The minor nobility of King's Landing like the Bywaters, Tides, Longwaters, Drifts, Merchants and the likes were already signing up second sons and even among the other houses, first sons as well. There was also replies when it came to sending their daughters as well.

Sure, Westeros was a deeply patriarchal society, but when it came to women, there where exceptions. They would be taught the same subjects as the boys, to make them better household managers whenever it came to running their own household when they married, but there was also the added benefit and incentive among the other houses to send their girls my way was because of the fact that there was bound to be a few heirs in the student list if I had anything to say.

And who knows, someone might catch someone's attention.

Or alliances could be built. Or something.

Taking my attention back from my thoughts to the real world, I found myself being hit with the truth of Gormon continuing to speak. I had already made my own decision about who was going to be the head of this particular department, but Gormon didn't know that.

He probably wasn't going to like it to know that it wasn't even going to be a maester. It was going to be my fine buddy Serret the pyromancer. Not that I was going to mention the pyromancer part. That would probably get him killed faster than Ryam.

This was how this particular dance had been going between me and Gormon and his master or compatriots at the Citadel. They had given me a list of all the half-maesters, acolytes and maesters that they could spare to serve as teachers for my school and in turn, I had gone through that entire list like a fine toothed comb.

Sort of redundant in my case since I didn't have a particular understanding as to whether the people given to me where actually serious about the vows they took or where the pets of...well, whoever in the Citadel that had some sort of agenda.

In other words, that had been the easiest part of the dealing with the Citadel. It was just when it came to the more finer administrative part of the equation that things began to boil down. I was being wholly reasonable to wanting my own people in charge of the running of my school that I was going to be paying the expenses to maintain and run, but for some strange reason, Gormon, perhaps even the Citadel thought this was unreasonable or something.

I held up a hand to halt Gormon right there. I was begin to tire of this. I smiled as disarmingly as possible. "Maester Garret sounds like a wonderful choice for the position, but unfortunately, I already have someone else in mind for the position."

I think I wouldn't be lying if I said Gormon's expression might have soured a little. I think this was like the fifth time or something that I had told him that I had found somebody else to run this department. "Who? If I maybe so bold to ask."

Alright, here we go. Serret was a pyromancer and there was probably still some people that would love to see him dead. Not going to mention the pyromancer part. Just going to say that he was a skilled alchemist from Essos.

It's not like he would be the first essosi that I had suddenly thrown into some position in my school.

"A learned man by the name of Serret. The master of whisperer's agents found him doing his trade in Volantis." There were millions of people who lived in Volantis and it's territories. And among those thousands, there was also an additional thousands upon thousands of people that practiced alchemy in some form or way.

That was my entire genius plan to keep his past from being found out, drown him in the multitude of bodies that called Volantis home. If the maesters want to do their own background check in Volantis, they had the go ahead as far as I cared.

They would be hard pressed to find anything organised about the alchemist trade there.

Of course, it would be stupid of me to make sure that his own background in King's Landing wasn't hidden or something. Thankfully, it seemed the alchemists had an MO of picking up urchins or orphans and inducting them into their guild.

And Serret happened to have been an orphan before he was inducted into said guilt, simply for the chance of having a bed to sleep and food to eat. The whole loving the substance thing came later he had told me. I...don't know how to take that. Apparent, if you weren't some sort of pyromaniac, the pyromancers apparently had the means to turn you into one.

I hope he wasn't lying to me, either wise, it probably would have been better for him to run off to Essos with the other pyromancers.

"Serret." Gormon repeated, tasting the word in his mouth. "Strange name for a Volantene." He finished, eyes narrowed and brows lowered ever so slightly.

I shrugged my shoulders as I leaned into the padded leather of my chair. "He says that his father was a Westerosi sellsword that settled down in the city. I'm of a habit to not believe it, but his Common Tongue is good enough that I'd believe it."

Gormon's expression frowned some. "How did you come to learn of him? Volantis is by no means a small city and I'm sure there are probably thousands more of his kind that dabbles in the natural sciences."

"In my father's employ is a man whose job it is to find out information or people. You've heard of him, yes? Ser Joffrey Massey. The Master of Whisperers." Okay, I may have been a bit difficult on that, but that was mostly my irritation showing through. "I wasn't aware of how the Citadel was going to react to my proposition about supplying the necessary staff for my school, so I had looked for other learned man to teach their trade. Ser Joffrey's agents found Serret and approached him. No doubt his ability to speak the Common Tongue gave him an advantage others, probably more learned and skilled than him did not."

Gormon had some sort of response in his mouth, but he held it back and slowly gave me a small incline of the head. "I'm sure his grace knows what he is doing."

 _I sure do,_ you condescending little bastard.

I picked up my glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and took a drink from it. "This comes to the last of the major appointments, yes? The position of Chancellor."

He perked up then. I wasn't surprised. The chancellor was the position of the person who ran the school. Of course he would be very much interested in knowing who was the person that he was going to try and woo towards the Citadels side or kill if they aren't agreeable. Gods, didn't people here have that simple scandal that would ruin a person professionally and force them to resign instead of killing them?

Or perhaps I was merely not giving the people of Westeros not enough credit. Surely having someone killed wasn't the go to method of removing someone from a position. Or throwing them into the black dungeons.

"Does his grace have someone in mind for the position?"

I nodded and gave him an honest answer to his question. "You."

A silence lulled over us for a moment.

He then broke it with a smile. "I'm honoured. But I have to ask, why me?"

I pointed to his maester's chain. "You have a chain in nearly all the metals of the subjects that are going to be taught." And then I moved my finger up from his chest to point at his face. "And that you also happen to be an archmaester. From my understanding, it's not easy to become such."

He shook his head. "No. Not at all easy."

I lowered my finger, remembering that my mother taught me that pointing was a very rude thing to do. "Exactly," I said with a nod of the head. "I'm of the mind that an archmaester is the only one suitable enough to be able to run this fine royal institution of education with the needed ferocity and zeal for education that only a maester can have."

He inclined his head. "You flatter me too much your grace. I shall endeavour to not disappoint in the task that you set upon me."

"No doubt you will. It doesn't matter, I think I made the right choice either way." I smiled at him. "That, and I think me and you can build quite the professional relationship."

Absolute bullshit of course. All of it.

I was of the mind to keep my friends close and my enemies even closer. Might as well keep Gormon from where I can see him. It also didn't hurt that his Vice-Chancellor was going to be a complete and utter royalist toad in that regard, so everything was hunky dory.

I'm sure that Gormon probably saw through this bullshit, but the position I was offering him was a position to promote the interests of the Citadel considering the minor influence they had in the capital apart from a couple of maesters assigned to the noble families that called court home or even dare I say, his family.

I rose up from my seat and held out a hand for him to shake. "I dare say, today was a good day, don't you think?"

Gormon did the same and grasped my arm. "A good day indeed, your grace." He replied as we shook hands.

And then we gave each other pleasant, empty smiles and lived happily ever after.

And I was already planning how many ways I can possibly get him killed. King's Landing was a big city, and people died every day. 

**xXx**

 _ **In Cold Waters  
**_

 **3rd Month 262AC**

"Look at the size of that thing!"

Samwell sighed as he watched some of the younger cabin boys pointed at the large sea cows as they laid about on the stony shore. He couldn't really blame them though for their excitement. He doubted any of them had ever seen such a creature before in their entire lives.

A big mass of fat that stood at more than double the size of the average man, and heavier as well, a sea cow was a large creature, And dangerous. "Don't get too close to them." He advised the younger lads. "They may seem harmless, but looks can be deceiving."

The boys nodded their heads. "Yes, sir." They said in unison and then proceeded to observe the sea cows from a safe distance as they waddled in and out of the water.

Not for the first time, Samwell found himself regretting the fact that he was now the senior cabin boy. He had been happy at the time, it meant that he was getting dreadfully close to becoming a full fledged sailor, something that his late father would have been pleased with.

But if he had known that it included him looking after whelps, then he would have denied the privilege as soon as complaining. Father probably did this as well once upon a time. How would his father think? Hearing the thought that went through his head.

Hardhome.

That's what this place was called. It was further north than the wall. In other words, this was the furthest north that Samwell had ever come. All at his prince's orders.

Some of the older men had heard stories about this place. They knew it's history. A history that they had been willing to share with the others who didn't know.

It was said that a long time ago, nobody knows, but apparently, during the reign where Valyria still stood strong upon the world, Hardhome was the closest thing to a true town north of the wall. Ships from across the sea traded with the wildling savages that called this place home.

The thought of the honour less savages that he had heard stories about actually settling down and building anything sort of resembling a town was ridiculous, but apparently it was truth.

The story continued that some two hundred and sixty two years before Aegon's Conquest of Westeros, something dark and terrible happened during the night and Hardhome was destroyed. The sailors had argued amongst themselves of whether it was slavers carrying of it's inhabitants to be sold in the flesh markets of the Free Cities or whether the dragonlords had turned their attention on Hardhome for some strange reason for flames and ash were reported to be seen all the way south from the wall and only dragonfire can be such a destructive element to be seen from so far.

From then on, the settlement was abandoned. No one knows why the wildling savages didn't try to rebuild. Perhaps the fear of the slavers? Or attracting the ire of the dragonlords again? Samwell thought.

Which made it all the stranger as to why they were even here to begin with. What was so special about this place that Prince Aerys would order the repeated expeditions to this point of the map?

Who are you to question a prince? No-one that's who. Just a bastard boy and nothing else.

Still, Hardhome set upon a sheltered bay that protected it from the rougher northern seas and winds. The harbour was natural as well, deep enough for any ship to stay afloat.

"How long is this going to take?" One of the cabin boy asked, Lucas, he recalled. He motioned towards the site of where the town had probably rested upon, towards a group of men and women clad in red surrounding a bonfire that didn't seem at all deterred by the winds and cold. "They have been doing that ever since dusk, yesterday. Do they not sleep?"

Tytos shied away even more from the large group that was more than likely half the town away from them. "Witchcraft, I tell you. There's something unnatural about those fires and whatever they are chanting to this Rihiloo."

"R'hllor." Samwell corrected.

Tytos looked up at him, blinking. "Sir?"

"It's R'hllor instead of Rihiloo. A common mistake considering the word is distinctively foreign."

Lucas looked amazed and interested. "You know of this...Ri-R'hllor?" He asked, saying the word of the foreign god slowly.

"I've been to the Free Cities. R'hllor has quite a following there. It's where I learned of it." Being the cabin boy of his father's ship in the Royal Fleet had seen him travel all across Westeros and some of Essos as the protection detail of a merchant convoy of some kind.

The adventure and exploration was only one part of his love for sailing.

Tytos crossed his arm. "But why did we have to bring these priests here then? What are they doing?"

"Something we don't get paid enough to know, Tytos." Samwell licked his chapped lips from the cold. "And I didn't hear you complaining when we brought the septons and septas up here to bless this place."

"They are of the Faith. Not some foreign devil." He argued.

Samwell smirked. "He's not as foreign as you think. Some in Dorne follow him. As well as in King's Landing. I'm sure you would find a follower of him in any of the cities of Westeros."

Tytos looked aghast and looked away, mumbling things about heretics and the likes. He also mumbled some prayers for their souls whilst clutching a Seven pointed star that hanged loosely around his neck.

As amusing as that was, and although he disliked it himself of questioning the prince who had done right by him as much as he had done, he wondered what was the point of this. The septons and septas with their seven blessed oils and incenses. The Rhoynish priests and their strange water goddess. The moonsingers of Braavos. Now the red priests.

Just what was the prince doing with this place, to have it blessed by so many holy men and women? For one, he had never taken the prince to be so religious.

 _Shall we be ferrying more priests and priestesses in the future?_ He had to fight back a smile that threatened to come across his lips. _Maybe in search of more priests, we could possibly go as far as the Summer Isles.  
_  
It was said that the Summer Islanders worshipped a love goddess through rutting. Now that was a god worthy of any mens devotion and one he wouldn't mind praying to.


	31. Vol 4 - Veni, Vidi, Vici

xXx

 **Volume IV  
Veni, Vidi, Vici **

**5th Month 267AC  
**  
Time has a habit of just flying by without you noticing.

I mean, I can still recall the day that I woke up in Rhaella's bed like it was just yesterday. The memory was still very much fresh in my mind.

That's why it was rather weird to think that I had been here for nine years. Nine years. Gods be good, I have been here for nearly a decade, give or take quite a couple of months.

I had somehow been able to survive Westeros for nine years and not get myself killed. That deserved some sort of award, I think. Or perhaps the credit had to go to the people that were in charge of keeping me alive?

I mean, several times during my second life I had stared death in the face and screamed. Not one of those fearless screams or screams of defiance, but screams of utter terror that one would describe as quite girlish and high. I have not done that sort of screaming for quite a while now.

Yeah, I should probably find a way to reward my kingsguard for keeping me alive for as long as they have.

Somehow, despite all odds, I was still here.

Unfortunately, others weren't.

I was beginning to dislike funerals. My own awkwardness about them that included my own views about death and it's inevitability notwithstanding. I just didn't like the volume of them I had to attend as of late.

There were far too many of them for my liking.

In front of me, underneath a great dome of glass of seven colours, atop a marble bier of mastercraft work lay King Aegon, the Fifth of His Name, King of the Andals, the First Men, and the Royner. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realm bathed in the colours of the rainbow.

At it's steps, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Harlan Grandison stood at vigil both of their expressions grim and quiet, hands clasping the hilt of their castle-forged swords that shined a terrific white silver whose point rested on the floor. Like the Stranger, they all wore hooded cloaks, but theirs white instead of black.

It was all rather difficult, to process that Egg was actually dead. Seeing his body in front of me, I was dreadfully hoping that he would just rise up and say this was all a joke.

But there he was, lying atop a bier made of marble. Dead.

To some, to the people Aegon had called friends. To those he had called family, we knew him as Egg. Others knew him as a father. A grandfather and even a great-grandfather.

A man who had tried to do right by the people of the realm that he ruled as it's king.

A task that had been placed of me, and all I could think of how I was going to fuck this shit up. I couldn't really help it. Positive thoughts were not my strong suit. I have never been one to tell myself that things are going to work out okay.

The first moments to come to mind always were the bad ones. Of how things could go wrong. And how I would be able to weasel my way out of the blame for those things going wrong.

Well, there was no point in worrying about those things. I had been trained for this role over the past few years and I had good advisors that were willing to tell me when I was about to do something incredibly stupid.

I could live with that. And perhaps, not make a complete and utter hash out of this being a king thing.

A small hand wrapped itself around my own and squeezed. Looking down, I smiled faintly as Dany tried her best to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall at the sight of her great-grandfather lying unnaturally still and pale on top of that bier.

She was making a better effort of it than her younger brother who was crying more freely but quietly. Tears streaks down his cheeks glistening with the light that we were given.

A littler over a year younger than his older sister, Lucerys Targaryen was already nearly as tall as her. Like his sister, they both had the silver-gold hair that showed their Valyrian heritage, but what set them apart where their eyes. Dany had inherited after me in terms of eye colour, whilst Luc had inherited after his mother with grey eyes that seemed almost blue.

Luc was trying to make the best of it to not cry. He furiously wiped away at the tears at his eyes and he would try to stifle his sniffles before they came out. But that was only a token resistance at best. Inevitably, he would sniffle and the tears would fall.

He was being brave nonetheless.

Both Dany and her brother had loved Egg and the king had made it so that he came to know his great-grandchildren and them, him.

When the singing had ended and the High Septon had made everything come to a close, the royal family was the first to make it's way down the aisle. I'm sure Egg didn't have that many allies or friends among the high lords because of his policies, but at the very least, as many as possible had been able to make it to his funeral.

All of them wore solemn expressions, but I wondered how many of them were actually sad about the passing of Egg? His policies certainly didn't give him many supporters or friends among the high lords.

In the Hall of Lamps, I sort of found myself swamped by some of those very same high lords offering me and my family condolences for our loss. "King Aegon was a great man. Dutiful in the carrying of his duties as king. The realm has truly lost a great man." Luthor Tyrell rambled on, nodding his head.

Next to offer me my condolences was a comely woman at his side. "Yes. King Aegon was more than capable in his duties. Mayhaps the greatest Targaryen king the realm has seen in more than half a century."

I studied the woman for a second. Looked at Luthor then back to her and realised, holy shit, this was Olenna Tyrell when she wasn't an old biddy. Huh, who knew she had been a looker.

I smiled as pleasantly as possible. "He was rather good at his job, wasn't he?"

Gormon appeared beside his brother's side from out of nowhere, stroking his beard with a thumb. "And it seems the realm shall be passed on from the safe hands of one good king and into the hands of another good king."

"Yes, yes." Luthor nodded, bobbing his head up and down. "And the running of the realm isn't easy. Especially for one so young. You shall need good men beside you to give good counsel."

Olenna seemed to dig her elbow into her husbands side. I think. "Now my lord, this is not the time for such talk. Today is a day of mourning, and the good king had more than a great-grandson in his family. I do think he also had a son. That lovely fellow over there with the black hair." She said before leading Gormon and Luthor away from me.

The Tyrells weren't the only ones to give me my condolences and subtle or not so subtle plays for me to give them a look in into the running of my government when the time comes. And I really wasn't that surprised. I just wished that like Olenna, they would realise that I wasn't the only person in that existed in House Targaryen.

Apparently, I had been wrong. I wasn't the only one being given an inordinate amount of attention. Branda had also been hounded by other highborn. The look she had flashed at me was more than enough to tell me that she wanted me to save her from the current press of bodies that she had found herself in.

Time for me to come in and act the gallant knight in shining armour, it seemed. Fixing up my tie, I marched towards her, only to be beaten to the punch by Steffon who was able to save my wife from the danger that she had been.

The Lord of Storm's End smiled at me when he approached me. "She seemed like she was in need of a little help."

I ground my teeth. "I was going to help her."

My cousin laughed before he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "It's a shame about what happened to grandfather. Egg was a good man. I'm sure you'll do him proud as king."

I took his hand of my shoulder. "It's nice to know that you have some confidence in me."

"Even if you end up somehow being a disaster, there will always be people around you who are willing to help." Branda said, taking my hand into her own and gave it a quick squeeze. "And I'm sure by now that the stupid has been beaten out of you. If not, gods help us all."

She and Steffon shared a laugh at my expense, but I shook my head at it all in good humour. They meant well, and they were right, I was sort of sure that the stupid had mostly been beaten out of me, even if it hadn't, Duncan was there to help.

"Your grace."

Turning my head, I found myself looking at a familiar face. Golden curls and green eyes flecked with gold look dead straight at me. "Tywin!" I greeted with a smile and then smiled once more to his companion, his lady wife Joanna. Thankfully, I'm positive the feelings had gone straight out of me. "Lady Joanna. Thank you for making this long journey from the west."

Steffon shared my sentiments as he gave Tywin a nod. "It means a lot. It really does. After everything."

"It was only the right thing to do. King Aegon shared his hearth and home with me for over half a decade. I should very well give my respect to the man that helped me forge to become the man that I am today." Tywin responded.

I doubted that Egg had at all been happy about how he resolved the Tarbeck and Reyne problem, but I wasn't going to say anything.

"How are your twins?" Branda asked after them. "Healthy and hale, I hope."

Me and Steffon must have been surprised because we both shared the same expression as we saw Tywin's lips twitched, threatening to actually smile. Joanna on the other hand was absolutely beaming. "Oh, how you hear them roar. I haven't had a decent night's sleep because of them."

It was nice to know my friend was happy with being a father, but seriously, Jaime and fucking Cersei were now a thing. How the fuck was I going to deal with that?

Joanna's eyes drifted towards my own children as they talked to their cousins, Ser Gwayne, Ser Lewyn and Ser Barristan standing sentinel over the royal children along with their extended family.

"Although I doubt a lion's roar could ever be compared to a dragon's." She said, with a coy smile.

"A roar's a roar. No matter the animal." Steffon said with a lazy wave of the hand. "Try dealing with a roar alongside the booming of thunder."

I knew for certain that he was referring to his own children, Robert and Stannis. Contrary to what I had thought was going to happen between him and Rhaella, it had not worked out. Once again, the gods do love their little jokes on the best laid plans of man.

Just like canon, Steffon had somehow ended up with Cassana Estermont. True love, he had called it. I called it lust, but whatever, he was young and the damage had already been done. No need to grumble about the details.

And anyway, I got Stannis. The only Baratheon that I was probably looking forward to out of Steffon's litter. Maybe Robert as well if there was a strong influence around to guide him.

Rhaella might not have gotten the man that she wanted, but she was able to get herself another highlord of import in the realm. And she had seemed happy enough with the match, so I had supposed that she had got what she wanted.

Whatever that was.

"Well then, I suggest you move then." I suggested. "To a place with a little less thunder and the booming that follows. I could rent you Summerhall, if you want. I hear it's lovely at this time of the year."

We shared laughs amongst our little group. Well Tywin didn't laugh, he did the closest thing he got to laughing, which was his eyes just softening ever so slightly.

I'm sure Steffon and Tywin both had envious eyes upon them by the other highborn. I'm sure they were aware of it as well.

And I wondered what plotting was already forming. 

**xXx**

"Father!" Dany called out from on top of a spring board. "Watch me!"

I drifted my eyes to the sight of my daughter. "I'm watching." I called out to her.

Giving a look in my direction to make sure that I was indeed, looking, she then proceeded to jump off the spring board and into the waters of the pool, splashing into it with a great big cannonball. She emerged from within the water, shaking her short hair about to rid of the water like a dog.

"Did you see?" She shouted.

"I did!" I called out, clapping. "Well done dear!"

The girl beamed before turning around to her playmates that also counted as her cousins. "See, I told you I could do it."

Daeron Targaryen lazily dog paddled around his younger brother Benedict. "Anybody can do that, cousin. It's so simple to do. Come back to me when you can backflip into the water from a rock several feet in the air into a river."

Whilst Daeron had Targaryen features of silver-gold hair and purple eyes, Benedict had taken a mixture of both his father and mother into his colouring. Benedict, named after the ancient king of House Justman, had brown hair that was almost a silver with purple eyes flecked with brown.

Dany swam towards them. "That's not fair! Father won't let me swim in the Blackwater. He says it's too dangerous."

It is too dangerous. The Rush was a fast flowing river, and I doubted as good a swimmer as Dany was, she would be able to fight against the currents. And that wasn't even thinking of the muck. Sure, a decree had been made to stop people from using the Rush as a toilet among other things, he still wouldn't risk it.

Benedict dunked his head underneath the water for a moment before resurfacing all wet. "Father won't let us swim in the Blue Fork anymore because of that." He said, glaring at his brother.

Daeron shrugged and swam towards the edge of the pool. "Aren't you going to join us?" He asked the other child of the group, my heir, Lucerys.

He sat at the side of the pool, idly kicking his legs in the water. He shook his head. "No. I'm too sad."

"Grandfather?" Daeron asked. Luc nodded, wiping away at his nose. Daeron splashed some water into his face getting a reaction from the younger boy. "Don't be sad. Grandfather wouldn't want to see us be sad. Mother says he is in a better place now."

I really did have more important things to do, but I wanted to be hear. There was something calming about seeing your children and their friends playing around and having fun. I could now see what Doran thought was so calming about the water gardens.

I had been worried about Luc, but it seemed as if Daeron was doing my job for me in trying to perk up the younger boy. Luc seemed sceptical though. "He should be here. No place is better than here with us. With everybody."

"I don't know, the seven heavens sound like awfully nice places." The heir to Oldstones remarked. "You know about the Seven Pointed Star right?" He continued when Luc nodded. "Yeah, it says that good things happen to good people. Grandfather was a good person, so a lot of good things are happening to him right now in the heavens."

"What about grandmother? She's sad as well about grandfather."

"Your grandmother is doing just fine, young man." Grandmother spoke, appearing with a group in tow that included Duncan, Steffon and Rhaella. She stopped behind Luc as he rose to get to his feet but was stopped when Betha pulled him up into a hug.

"Grandmother, I'm wet!" Luc protested feebly as he enjoyed the hug.

"It's a dress. I have a lot of these, but only one adorable grandson as cute as you."

"Thanks mother. Nice to know my own sons are not as adorable as you want." Duncan deadpanned.

Steffon raised a hand also in weak protest. "Robert and Stannis are adorable as well. Don't forget about them."

Betha looked at the younger men. "Oh stop it you. I love all my grandchildren. I sometimes wish there was more than one of me so I could spend time with all of them. Steffon, when are you going to bring Robert and Stannis to the capital again? It's been too long. You should have brought them when you came." She then eyed my sister. "And what about you Rhaella? Want to say something about not including your own?"

Rhaella smiled at Betha. "To be honest, my opinion about them is all that matters. As far as I'm concerned, Arthur and Matthis are the most adorable babes in the world." She pinched Luc's cheek, again, much to his protests. "Much better than all these rascals that are gathered here."

Luc swiped at Rhaella's hand away from her face, she being able to dodge the action with a laugh. Betha released Luc from her grip, prompting him to go join the others in the pool whilst the group of adults made their way in my direction.

I sighed as I rose from my seat. "I figured someone was going to find me eventually."

Rhaella sniffed as she spoke. "You are not as good at hiding as you think, brother."

Betha smoothed out her skirts and corset. "It's understandable to still be in mourning, but the realm still needs to be governed." She cupped my chin in her hand. Her wet hands. "I'm positive that you and Duncan will do your grandsire proud."

"Everyone's been saying that. It's nice to know that I all have your confidence. At the very least, I will have all these nice words and faces to look back and laugh at when I crash and burn." I said looking around the group of people.

Duncan smiled somewhat. "Don't worry about it, I'm sure with the new Fire Service that was implemented, we'll be able to keep the burning to a minimum." His face then took on a serious look. "Still there are matters that will need to be seen to."

"The small council for starters." Steffon grumbled. "And we still have the Blackfyres running around across the narrow sea. Why haven't we taken care of them, yet?"

"Because now is not the time, cousin." I told Steffon, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But trust me, I do have a plan. But it will both need your help. All your help."

Rhaella curtsied. "Not only are you my brother, you happen to be also my king now. And I stand at the ready to help the crown in all it's matters."

I smiled at Rhaella. She still didn't like me, but then again, I think our relationship was cordial and professional. More than I had expected.

"Speaking of small council," my eyes trailed towards my cousin. "I have several openings. You want one?"

Steffon balked, taking a moment to step back. "Me? On a council? You must be mad. I'm not made for that nonsense, but if you need some heads to be smashed in, I'm your man."

"Well, it was worth a try." I said with a sigh.

So, with not all that much fanfare, I wondered what would the reign of **King Aerys, the Second of His Name** will be like? I doubt it was going to be any kind of boring.


	32. Chapter 32

**xXx**

**Ryam Reyne**

 **6th Month 267AC  
**  
Rogaem was a more than comely man. So comely, it would have been difficult to think of him as a man to begin with.

Then again, this was Lys, Ryam had yet to come across anyone that wasn't at the very least, homely. It seemed as if no unattractive people called Lys home apart from the sailors and slavers that he had seen at the port.

Tall, pale silver gold hair that seemed to shine in the sun light with deep purple eyes. His was was slim and somewhat feminine. Everything about him told Ryam that the blood of Valyria ran strong in him. Much like everyone else here really. Once again, the further they moved away from the docks and the ports, the less that he could see any other hair colour apart from gold or silver or a combination of the two.

If it wasn't for the fact that he wore the clothes of man, Ryam would have mistaken Rogaem for a woman. The purple eyeshadow that he wore to highlight his eyes did not at all help him with the first impressions.

I wouldn't be surprised if he liked swallowing swords at that.

Harry ever being amiable was busy talking to their guide as he led them through the streets of Lys. "As lovely as Lys is, I have to say, all this white is rather dull."

Rogaem smiled some as he replied, his voice full of pride for his home. This confused Ryam, for he was sure that the choker he wore marked him for a slave. Why would he be proud of this unholy place and everything that it stood for?

"On the contraire, sers. The white adds to the beauty, especially with the flavour of assorted colours."

"On the roofs." Ryam said absentmindedly, looking up at the domed roof of one those very same white washed buildings. "Apart from them, everything else is white. Is there a reason for this?"

"White is purity." Rogaem replied. "It serves as a symbol of the purity the blood that runs throughout every Lyseni in this very city. That...and the fact that the white stone and marble you see is abundant on our humble island. Best make use of it." The slave finished with a slight playful smirk.

At the very least, Ryam could agree that the blood of these Lyseni was very pure in respects of Old Valyria.

He would also have to agree that when men had come to given this city, Lys the Lovely, they were right in doing so. Every building was of white washed stone and marble, of such masterful building that it could be mistaken that they were all crafted through the use of one's own hands.

The white of the stone and marble was gently dossed with gentle colours of purple, bright blue, gold and reds. It wasn't an explosion of garish colours that he had seen in Tyrosh, but it certainly was a set of colours that went to make a statement.

As Rogaem led them through the large paved roads of the city, lined with palm trees that gave shade from the sun that hanged over heard, they passed a multitude of vendors selling their wares. Some hawkers saw them and approached to sell their goods, but they didn't stop for anyone.

"Your master could have very well sent for horses for all of us." Ryam said, voicing the complaints of his own feet. The shoes that he were wearing had not been made for the walking that he was in.

Rogaem inclined his head slightly as he apologised. "Apologies, good knight of Westeros. At the moment, all of the horses in our stable are of use. The Master is a very busy man, who frequents many places. The horses need their rest as well."

Ryam's companion, Harry took interest in the subject as he tried to garner more information about the man that they had been dispatched to meet. "Your master, what sort of man is he?"

"A good man." The slave replied. "He treats others well, even those of my like. I warn you good sers, if trouble is to be brought upon the master, it will be met most fiercely."

"No trouble will be brought upon your master. We just merely want to talk to him."

That was a lie, in truth. Ryam and Harry had been dispatched by their prince here to deliver a letter. They did not know the contents of the letter, as Aerys had wrote it right in front of them and sealed it within an envelope soon after.

How low House Reyne has fallen. He mused to himself. Once we were feared and respected. Now I'm a glorified mail man.

At the very least, this task was one of many that got him out of that viper's nest that was King's Landing. Although that may be an over exaggeration in truth. All of the vipers did seem interested in coming after him and only him.

"I'm surprised no-one is glowering at us." Harry commented, out of the blue.

Ryam realised that Harry had dropped from the side of Rogaem to come along beside him, the slave continuing to lead the way in front of them.

Over the past five years, Harrold Wendwater had come into being. He was never going to have the powerful build of the heroes of old, but he made up for it with a sinewy strength hidden underneath his lean and lanky frame.

That annoyed him. That the squire that he had used to tower over was now half a head taller than him. Another joke the gods like to play with me.

Looking around he did notice that no particular looks were being sent their way. Apart from looks of curiosity from the Lyseni and their slaves or among the sellsword guardsmen. "Perhaps they don't know who we are."

"We are speaking in the Common Tongue, Ry. I'm sure they know who we are. Or some of them anyway." He finished with a shrug.

He couldn't help but laugh at that. "That's true. It's not like the crown's policies have effected Lys in any meaningful way. Their trade is mostly that of flesh. Something no self respecting Westerosi would ever concern themselves with."

"You would be surprised at what men will do in the pursuit of gold, Ryam. We aren't children anymore."

"No. No we are not." He then noticed that the slave that was acting as their guide was holding back a smile. He didn't like that. "Got something to say, Lyseni?"

He jumped a little from the tone the question had been asked, but he shook his head quickly in denial. "No, no. It's just that, yes, Lys has no quarrel with the Sunset Kingdoms as of now, but things have been getting...difficult, as of late I hear."

Harry had his interest piqued. "Really, now?"

"You do not know?" Rogaem asked with a scoff before shaking his head and saying something in the Lyseni dialect of Valyrian. Both Ryam and Harry shared a look, both having the feeling that something unduly called for had been said about them.

Ryam touched at the sleeve of his blazer, at the hidden blade underneath. Harry saw the action and shook his head with a roll of the eyes.

The blade was small, but long enough and thick enough that he could move up behind Rogaem and press it into his back. That would probably show the Lyseni pillow slave to at the very least, show respect to his betters.

"We are simple messengers in Prince Aerys' service." Harry speaking up again after a moment. "There's somethings we don't need to know."

"Clearly there are some you should, if your actions are inviting another war with Tyrosh."

Ryam frowned in thought. Tyrosh? That was silly. The Nine had been smashed in the Stepstones, there was no need for war between Tyrosh and the Seven Kingdoms. And we are not as weak as we used to be.

"It is said that Alequo Adarys' grip on power in the city is slipping." Harry told the slave.

Ryam snorted, adding to his friend's statement. "I doubt he'll even last till the end of the year. The Tyroshi are a greedy lot. And someone will have the greed and ambition to replace the Silver Tongue on his throne."

And like that he had answered his own question. The people of Tyrosh were known for their greed and it was said it was rare to find an honest Tyroshi. Sometimes, in the past, the Conclave and their Archon to suit their never ending greed for gold, would unleash some of it's navy on the Stepstones to prey on both the merchants and pirates alike.

In truth, piracy in the Stepstones had been increasing over the years. He had seen enough of more and more of the Royal Fleet being dispatched to the Stepstones to try and pacify the area, but whenever the fleet returned back home, like cockroaches, the pirates would spring up once more to prey on the merchants and their wares.

Could it be? Does Tyrosh have a hand with the recent bouts of piracy in the Stepstones?

If so, not only would Tyrosh be inviting the wrath of the Iron Throne, but also the other Free Cities as well. That was just folly. Especially considering that the Nine had lost much of the power that it used to wield. Some of it's number had found themselves dead, whilst those that had been found the kingdoms they had been fighting for, found themselves beset by enemies on all sides.

If Tyrosh was truly responsible for the piracy in the Stepstones, then Alequo Adarys would find himself alone in the case of war. Ryam had the line of thought that the other Nine would not come to the aid of the Silver Tongue.

Perhaps, for even all of the gold in the world. 

**xXx**

 **The Editor**

The bells always rang at the crack of dawn.

It was always like this. Every morning started like this. In fact, the bells rang at the crack of dawn, then once more at midday, then dusk and then midnight. Once, the great bells had rung every other hour until people started complaining about the sound that the prince then changed it the current policy.

It worked far better for him and everyone else.

And once more, at the sound of the bells, Jory Wright would wake himself to begin his day.

He would wake up then head to the communal bath house of the apartment that he lived in, talk with his fellows that lived in the same building before drying himself and then heading back to his apartment. He lived on the top floor of the building, and thus, taking the stairs was more than enough exercise to keep him healthy and fit.

By the time he had returned, his wife would have made breakfast for both him and their daughter. It used to be that she would set the table out for four, for their oldest son Mark, but Mark had impressed and done him proud in his studies at the Royal School.

He had always been a big, strong boy, it was little wonder that he was squired to a son, the knight. He thought, puffing out his chest slightly in pride. If father can see him now. He would be proud.

"We'll be learning about Queen Alysanne today." Alys, his daughter said, playing with her food. "Septa Lysa said so."

Mirri didn't like the playing that Alys was doing and admonished her. "Your food is for eating, not playing Alys."

Alys shrunk into her seat. "Sorry mama." But she quickly perked up again. "Papa, do you know about Queen Alysanne?"

Jory smiled. "Of course dear. Your obviously knows about Queen Alysanne."

Her eyes glistened. "That's good then. Septa Lysa also said she will give us homework about the queen." She stuck out her tongue in a show of childish disgust. "I don't like homework. You'll have to help me."

Jory laughed, but he thought he did his best to hide his nervousness at the subject. For in his past as a scribe, he had copied from many history books. About the Seven Kingdoms. About the Targaryens. About many things.

He certainly knew of Queen Alysanne, but it was going to be a tad bit difficult to recall of every single thing she had done.

Not long afterwards, Mirri had sent Alys to her room to get her towels for they were going to head to the baths themselves, and from there, she would take Alys to the school. Mirri sat beside me shaking her head. "All this learning...what will it do for her in the future? I worry about that."

"Things are different now, my love." He said, kissing her brow. "The king wants as many learned men and women as possible. Even now, at the Herald, I work alongside many womenfolk. I admit, times sure are strange, but like with Mark, we have to grab every opportunity that comes our way."

Mirri was a lovely woman. Some might say that Jory had married far below his station considering that his family had belonged to the Guild of Scribes ever since King's Landing was found. But he had fallen for her, the day that he had seen her serving in that tavern.

He tried not to think about the many men that she had more than likely been with before they had been joined as one in a sept.

After that, he made for the Herald's offices.

Jory lived a fair distances away and to arrive in a timely manner, he could have called upon a pedicab. At this time of the morning, not many of them would be in use, and at the same time, it also meant that not many of them would be out and about on the streets to look for potential customers.

Therefore, ever since he bought it, he cycled to work.

Once again, it was an excellent way to keep himself fit and proper.

The bicycle was once more another sign of the sheer ingenuity of their young king. Made of wooden frame attached to two wheels, the bicycle was cheaper than a horse. The only thing that could raise the price for it was the type of wood used to make the frame and wheels.

He had even seen some that looked like they were made out of metal.

It was said the costliest of the bicycles made out of wood was that of the ironwood variety. Tough, strong, and less likable to break, he had seen the price for one such bicycle and had balked. Far too much money to spend on someone of his salary.

The bicycle had revolutionized how people went about. Long went the days that unimportant men like him and many others had to walk to get where they wanted to go. Now, it was safe to say and maybe not all that wrong to say that every men in King's Landing owned a bike.

Perhaps even the entirety of the crownlands.

The office building of the Royal Herald was located on the Street of Fleet. The building itself stood taller than the other buildings around it, and grander as well. In colours of black and red and ornate dragons guarding the main entrance.

Jory Wright was proud to work at such a respectable place. Bring about the very first newspaper in all of Westeros. No, in the entire world.

It was said that their courier ships even went as far and wide as Volantis. Not surprising really, some of their segments included business that was happening across the narrow sea, mostly for the merchants who had a vested interest in news from abroad. And news that was a little more reliable than one heard in the local wine sinks.

Paper boys with this weeks edition stuffed into rough-spun bags marched past him in an orderly manner, talking and laughing amongst themselves. Some of them would go on to personally deliver the Herald to subscribed readers or hawk the newspaper in popular town squares and streets.

He smiled in the direction of his secretary as he reached his office. "Morning Bella."

The young woman rose from her seat and bowed. "Morning, Mr. Wright."

"What's my day looking like?"

Bella picked up a small book and began to flip through it's pages. "Light, ser. You are free till a little after midday, then afterwards, you have a meeting with the other editors and the editor-in-chief." She then frowned. "You also have a meeting with Yorrick."

Oh by the gods, not him. Yorrick was a good journalist, always finding some sort of story, but the man had a habit of chasing after stories that were best left alone. It was a surprise to Jory that he was still breathing. "I thought he was in Duskendale?" That was the last thing he had told him. He had said his contacts had been giving him hints about a great story that would shake King's Landing or the very crownlands themselves.

"No. He returned just before the weekend. Actually, just a few hours after you had finished for the day."

"I suppose I can't just say I'm ill and go home, can I?"

She smiled at him then, apologetically. "No, ser. I'm afraid you can't."

After that, the day went about as normal for him as possible.

He looked over the stories that the various journalists that worked for him had submitted. He would be the one to choose which ones were going to be printed in the next edition. When he found the ones worthy to be printed off, he would then check them for any spelling errors.

It was unlikely, considering that nearly all of the staff of the Herald had been in the Guild of Scribes before it found itself unceremoniously disbanded, but it never hurt to be sure.

The printing press was a marvellous device, but that device had been the bane of the Guild of Scribes of King's Landing. At first, they hadn't known what was happening when the market suddenly found itself flooded with copies of the Seven Pointed Star.

One of the guilds main incomes was copying out books and other such items. The holy book being one of their main demands by both lords and rich townfolk alike.

The guild masters had ignored this and reasoned it as merely that the Faith had worked quick in writing out new copies of the holy book. But they never stopped coming. The Faith kept printing out more books than the market could copy, forcing the price of the holy book down from gold dragons, to silver stags and then coppers.

Before they had known it, they had started losing much of their business when it came to publishing to their competitor that was somehow able to flood the market with books at such a rate that it was simply impossible for it to be done by hand.

That was when Prince Aerys had come to them.

Jory stopped writing for a moment and shook his head. You would call a prince a king? True, he had not been a prince then, but he was now a king. May King Aegon rest in peace among the seven heavens.

King Aegon had done good for all the guilds, and it seemed as if before he had become a king, Aerys had been doing so as well, barring that garish business with the Guild of Shipwrights.

"We need more stories!" Hugh Bookman boomed, pacing the room. "Those little shits down in Oldtown with their Oldtown Standard are trying to cut into our market. I won't let them, and neither will the lot of you."

Jory pressed even more into his seat than he was already doing. All the meetings had been like this ever since other establishments much like their own began to be found by the scribes of the other kingdoms. To date, there was the Oldtown Standard, Lannisport Times, The Daily Duskendale, The Fairmarket Enquirer and The Northern Mail.

Every single one of these papers were beginning to cut into their monopoly. Five years ago, they were the only establishment of their kind, being able to spread the news throughout all of the crownlands. Then the new clipper ships extended the size of their potential market to the rest of the kingdoms and across the narrow sea.

The rumour was, Hugh was going to petition the king to at least give them a charter to protect their profits.

Hugh pointed a stubby finger at Harrison Bookes. "You!' Harrison might as well have been a hamster with the squeak that he had made. "What in the bloody seven hells are you doing? You are in charge of sports! Where the fuck is the news of the tourneys!? No-one in the bloody Seven Kingdoms cares about those bloody ball sports! They want to know which knight is knocking which other bloody, stupid highborn of his rocker!"

Bookes to his credit was able to control himself to answer back. "Honestly, ser, it's just so difficult. There's so many tourneys in the reach to cover, and along with the other sports that happen in King's Landing like rugby, I don't have enough space for my segment."

"I don't give a flying fuck!" Bookman roared. "If you have to, cut down on that ponderous shit and put in the fucking tourney results! And you!" He then changed the target of fury to another poor unfortunate victim.

All Jory could do was wait for his turn.

Hugh was an excellent editor, having been one of the most prominent guild masters of the Scribes, he had been able to take the Herald to the heights that it enjoyed now. But personally, he was like some sort of demon cast out from the seven hells to work underneath.

All Jory wanted to do was relax after the bollocking he had received from Hugh, but when he entered his office, he found Yorrick, peering out of his office window. When he closed the door, the man near half jumped.

Jory frowned. "What's wrong with you man? Out with it, I don't have the patience for it today." He said as he rounded his desk and dropped into his chair.

Yorrick rushed towards the table, grasping for something in his pack before bringing out a stack of papers and slamming them on the ground. His eyes were wild as he talked. No, as he hissed. "I have it man. News that could shake the very start of our gracious King's reign."

Jory grabbed for one of the papers and began to read through it. "What the fuck are you talking about, Yorrick?"

Yorrick looked around madly, leaning forward before he half spoke, half whispered. "The Darklyns."

His stomach had been dropping with each line he had been reading on the papers in front of him. "...This is dangerous. What you have here is very dangerous."

"Very." Yorrick repeated, licking his lips. "A good man died giving me this." He slapped the table in excitement. "But gods be damned, if this isn't news, I don't know what is."

Jory thought of his family. If this was true and he allowed for this to be printed, a lot of attention would be brought upon him and his family. "I have to take this to Hugh."

"No!" The man wailed. "He'll say no. I know he will. You can't. Please." He begged.

Jory shook his head as he rose up from his seat. "I have to."

And so, with Yorrick in tow, they took it to Hugh Bookman.

And Hugh was not impressed. "This is utter, trifling garbage." He said, ripping the papers into pieces before throwing them into his brazier. "Treason? The Darklyns? For what reason?"

"For gold of course." Yorrick answered bravely. "What other reason should they have?"

"I won't be having that tone with me, boy." Hugh said sternly, his full attention levelled on Yorrick. "You have always been a source of trouble. No more, I say." He pointed one thick finger at him. "You're fired. Get your ugly lard out of my building."

"It's the king's building actually." Yorrick remarked with a certain testiness.

Yorrick was escorted out of the building by some of Jory's colleagues that would not have liked to clean up a bloody mess in Hugh's office. That left Jory and Hugh alone.

Hugh shook his head as he lit up a paper than had sourleaf tucked inside. "Madness, I tell you. Utter madness. The Darklyns have been loyal to the Targaryens ever since the time of the Conqueror." He shook his head before eyeing Jory. "No word shall be spoken of this. You understand Jory?"

Jory nodded. "I do, ser."

"Good." He waved him away, a brusque dismissal. "Be gone with you. Back to work."

And Jory went back to work. Forgetting about Yorrick and his talk of treason.


	33. Chapter 33

**xXx**

 **7th Month 267AC  
**  
As I was essentially the Lord Paramount of the Crownlands, I was exercised with the largest grant of land in the entirety of my direct feudal fief. In other words, I had all the space in the world to do whatever I wanted, or find some out of the way place to have tests away from prying eyes.

I might have a lot of space for test grounds for more of my destructive ideas, but my paranoia always ate at me that I was never being careful enough. That was probably the reason why I had, what I was tentatively calling my dragoons, ranging around the area in search of any people that had no right to be here.

It was a clear day with a gentle sea breeze coming in from the calm waters of the Blackwater Bay. It was a good day as any to have a test fire of a device that was more than likely going to change the face of warfare in all of Westeros, perhaps the world. It was a rather large unwieldy beast to be sure. Not exactly what I had pictured when it came to mind. It had looked prettier in my drawings, but I would take what I got.

The bore of the cannon gleamed a golden brown in the sunlight. Never once seen a bronze cannon before, but apparently, the cannons made from cast iron had an unfortunate tendency to blow up at the inopportune of times without previous signs of any sort of malfunction on their part.

"And this one won't randomly blow up?" I questioned the man that had been put in charge of making sure that the metal was up to snuff.

Tesso Mott nodded his head from the very safe distance me, him and some of my entourage were standing away from in case the cannon did blow up. "Yes, your grace. The problem with using iron for the devic- the cannon as you call it, was that iron by itself couldn't handle the stress of the explosion. Bronze on the other, is a softer metal able to handle the stress well. And lighter as well."

"If this works Tesso, I suppose I won't be complaining about offering you all that gold for your service."

The Qohorik bowed slightly, a giving me a black smile. The man had, for some strange reason, Valyrian steel for fake teeth. Was he so lazy that he didn't want to put as much effort as possible into tearing his food?

"You are too kind your grace." Tesso Mott said, bowing. It hadn't been cheap bringin Tesso Mott all the way from Qohor, but for the knowledge that he held? It was probably going to be worth it.

One way or another, I was going to make the man take as many students as possible for him to impart his knowledge. I didn't doubt that he was going to take most of the Qohorik state secrets that came to metallurgy to the grave, but whatever he taught was probably going to be better than what the maesters had.

Serret being alive was probably one of the few good things that came out of that fire. During his time as head pyromancer, he had made it his mission to be involved with every project that I had given to the pyromancers.

Thankfully, I had been at a loss of what to do when the fire all but destroyed the pyromancers and everything that they had been working at for me. Serret changed that. He didn't know all the details, but he certainly knew all of the details for many of the projects that had been assigned to them.

Gunpowder being one.

To my surprise though, it had taken longer than I would have thought to actually come up with a viable gunpowder ratio that would be capable of launching a ball of explosive filled iron across a suitable amount of distance to wreck walls. I suppose there was more to the powder than just simply knowing the ingredients for it.

That had been one part of the problem. Another was actually building a functional working cannon that did not randomly blow up and kill the crew.

In regards to that, I had looked to Qohor. Why you might ask? Because it's really rather simple. The Qohorik had the reputation for the best metal workers ever. How good? Because apparently, the best castle-forged steel of Westeros was still nothing compared to that of equal make from Qohor.

In other words, the Qohoriks had the Westerosi beat when it came to metallurgy.

Something the maesters probably didn't appreciate considering some of the rumours that flew about, about that particular part of the world.

"They are about to begin, your grace." Tesso said, pointing in the direction of the crew that was loading up a solid ball of iron down the bore.

The cannon itself faced the ocean as that was where the direction of the solid shot would be fired in. I watched intently as the crew moved aside before lighting the fuse that burned down the fuse and into the vent before the earth seemed to shake as the recoil pushed the canon back as it fired it's projectile.

I felt sorry for the men that were holding the horses, for they must have surely been spooked. Needed to do something about that, wouldn't do for the horses to be spooked by little things such as cannons being fired.

I looked into the waters of the Blackwater Bay and saw where the solid shot had smashed into. The waters around that particular spot still bore the signs of the impact.

I rubbed at my ear. "Gods, that was loud."

Tesso Mott grinned from ear to ear. "If you think that loud, your grace, think of two or more firing."

"Yes, I suppose that will be louder. I do feel sorry for the poor bastards that are going to be firing these things." I turned my attention back to the cannon and gave a satisfactory nod. "I'm still not yet convinced of it's success. The first iron cannon worked well enough after the first shot. Then it suddenly blew up on the seventh try, killing good men."

The fact that it had blown up on the seventh try, the holy number, I would have found amusing in the irony of it all, but as I had said, the fragments from the iron cannon had resulted in them killing everyone in the immediate surroundings of the cannon.

The death toll had just kept rising after that as I had people try to figure out what was going on.

I made a flippant hand gesture. "Have them fire it again. And again. If it doesn't blow up by the tenth shot, then I shall consider this a resounding success."

By the tenth test, the bronze cannon was still standing and the crew was still alive. So by own words, it was very much a resounding success.

Tesso Mott knew it judging by the stupid grin on his face. "A resounding success, no?"

I sighed as I ran a hand through my hair resigned. "Those were my words. I'm still expecting it to suddenly explode and kill the crew."

"A healthy, understandable fear, your grace."

So I now had a cannon. Problem is, copper is bloody expensive and I wasn't really willing to cash out on the required gold to buy a large amount of copper for the cannons. Maybe just have a battery of cannons?

Now if only I could remember the number of cannons in a battery. You know what? Fuck it. Might as well go with Westeros favourite number.

"Seven."

Tesso Mott looked at me strangely, an eyebrow raised up his hard face. "Your grace?"

"I want seven of these cannons forged, with an identifier of some kind. A serial number or a mark of yours." I told him. "If you do this, then I consider our deal complete."

Tesso Mott nodded as he took in the information. "And of the agreement that we came to, your grace?"

"You will have your charter, viable for ten years like we agreed. I'll find respectable knights in the service of the crown for your sons...Tito and Tobias, if I'm correct?"

He nodded his head, a gentle sea breeze sweeping across the both of them. "Aye, your grace. Good boys. Strong boys. They will make fine squires."

"What of your other son?" I asked. "Tobho." The name was somewhat familiar, but I couldn't really put a face to a name or where I recalled it from.

"He's my heir." Tesso answered, crossing his arms. "I will be passing all of my knowledge to him. In truth, out of all my sons, he is the most recipient to my teachings. Tito and Tobias not as much."

I was beginning to suspect that there was some sort of thing going on here with the constant alliterative names. It happened to frequently to be just a one-off.

"You realise they will have to convert to the Faith of the Seven, right? No knight will dub them if at the very least, they don't follow the Seven."

"I have already made the arrangements."

Well, I suppose no-one can blame the man for being a bad parent. In his own strange way, I suppose his sons become knights was somehow securing them a future of some kind. Perhaps he dreamed of them being awarded their own land to administer in the future.

It all depended on how good their service was to the Iron Throne.

As I left the test grounds with my retinue in tow, I had trouble keeping the grin of my face. I had a working cannon. I suppose in a way, a cannon was far better than the hwacha that had been developed when the development of the cannon had been taking too long for my liking.

Yes, I understood the benefits of a cannon, but there was something about an arrow storm that would always attract something inside me. It was like all of my childhood anime fantasies all rolled into one.

Cannons were cool, but arrow storms were even cooler, especially gunpowder propelled arrows.

And that was just the little boy inside me speaking. 

**xXx**

 **8th Month 267AC  
**  
The small council had always been particularly small, but lately, it had felt even smaller than it had already been. Over the years, some members had retired back to their holdings after having served the realm faithfully, on in others cases, just outright died.

Looking around the table, there was three empty seats that needed to be filled, the positions of master of whisperers, laws, and coin. And if I had my way, some of those positions were going to be radically different and there may even be more seats in my small council.

My lips threatened to twitch somewhat in amusement. Would it even be right to call it a 'small' council considering that at the best of my estimates, it was going to be a little over double in size?

And there certainly wasn't going to be any kind of 'master' anymore.

Until we could find suitable replacements or new appointments when my reforms were over and done with, then the work load for all those three positions had been thrown in Duncan's direction. Something the prince had been less than happy to carry out.

Mind you though, I think everyone was putting in their fare graft of work to at the very least, lessen the burden that my uncle had to carry.

"…More pirates in the Stepstones. No matter how many purges we carry out, they just keep crawling out from the hole they came from." Lord Addam Velaryon, the master of ships complained, shaking his head of silver hair about.

Duncan calmly agreed with the man as he nodded. "That I agree with, my lord. The Stepstones are a valuable trade route for all of Westeros. A safe and secure Stepstones means more wealth comes into the realm."

"Then something must be done, Prince Daeron." Lord Addam said, a fist forming on his visible hand. "In my purges, I have lost good men and ships and for what? To go back again in half a years time? It's the Tyroshi I tell you. They are sponsoring those pirates and setting some of their own fleet into the Stepstones to pray on our trade."

"We don't know that." I pointed out, interjecting into the conversation.

"But we do know that one of those Ninepenny Kings sits his arse on the Archon's Throne of Tyrosh. Is it so hard to believe that this maybe nothing more than a continuation of the war they lost so badly?"

Ser Gerold bade himself to speak. "Your grace, I fear it may not just be the Tyroshi, sellsails and pirates that we maybe dealing with in the Stepstones."

This garnered the attention of both me and the other councillors. Leaning forward onto the table that we all sat around, I frowned. "Who else could be disrupting trade in the Stepstones? Myr? Lys? Pentos? Braavos? I doubt we have done anything to them."

Ser Gerold shook his head. "Not in the east, but in the west."

The Grand Maester sucked in some air through closed teeth. "The ironborn." He more or less stated without any hint or doubt. He eyed Lord Addam. "Have your men come across longships in their campaigns?"

The Master of Driftmark leaned back into his seat and crossed his arms in thought. "Mayhaps, but if so, my captains didn't report anything to me. Longships do not make the best kind of ship for ship to ship combat. Perhaps they merely saw the ships of the Royal Fleet and beat a quick retreat?"

"That's more than possible." The Grand Maester groused, a hand stroking a smartly shaven beard. He was certainly far different to Pycelle by the looks of things, even if he was advanced in age. I suppose this was another man that I was going to have to find a replacement for in the future. "The ironborn by their very nature are cowardly jackals. Unless they number a proper ship of war, they will never make to attack it."

Wow, the hate for the ironborn was real with this old man. I wondered what the hell they did to him.

"Now we shouldn't rush to come to conclusions," Duncan said, placing a calming hand on the table. He looked around on each of the faces around it. "Lord Quellon has been making head way in reforming the ironborn to a people that could more work closely with the rest of the kingdoms. Why would he let them loose to attack our shipping? Ser Gerold, how have you come to accuse the ironborn in all this?" He finished, by levelling purple eyes in the direction of the Lord Commander.

"My nephew Lord Leyton has made me aware that many Hightower ships have been seen crossing the Redwyne Straits bound for some destination." The large and powerful knight replied, but he wasn't done speaking just yet. "I paid it no mind as ironborn have been noted to take their reaving elsewhere in the world, but with the recent bouts of piracy occurring in the Stepstones, I had come to the conclusion that they were only aiding to the problem."

"A raven will have to be sent to Pyke then," I said, wrapping my fingers on the table. Trade with the Stepstones was rather lucrative, and I really didn't want to see a dip in the incomes from the King's Landing port. That alone brought in hundreds of thousands of gold alone, sometimes even millions. "To see what Lord Quellon has to say about this."

"Perhaps malcontents?" Duncan suggested. "Lord Quellon is not the first to try and reform his people. Perhaps these ironborn heading for the Stepstones are more of the stubborn followers of the Old Way."

"From my understanding, most reformers tend to be murdered." The Grand Maester remarked dismissively. "No malcontent would let themselves be driven to petty piracy in the Stepstones."

I smiled at the Grand Maester. "Lord Quellon is a different sort...of breed from his forward thinking forebears." I rose up from my seat and walked towards a desk at the side that held several scrolls. "But regardless of the actions of the ironborn, the piracy is a problem. Something must be done about it."

Speaking of Quellon Greyjoy, out of all his brood, I was only interested in Balon and Victarion. Balon simply because he could give birth to Asha, someone reasonably smart all things considering. And Victarion because, despite being dumb as bricks, the man was somehow capable as an admiral and a warrior.

I wanted both of them. So Balon was only going to survive for as long as he did simply because I allowed it.

Euron was dead though. In fact, he was deader than dead. I just had to think of how.

"Another punitive action?" Lord Addam asked, his tone of voice more than telling me that he was beginning to tire of such things if the results were always going to be the same.

I shook my head. "No." I said, making my way back to the table with one particular scroll. "I have something a bit more permanent in mind about the Stepstone problem." I finished unrolling the scroll and lying it flat on the table. The others stood from their seats to make their way around to have a look at the map. I tapped at the island of Grey Gallows that was conveniently located in probably the most central location of all the Stepstones. "The pirates are a problem in the Stepstones because there is no permanent force there that roams the waters and keeps them in check. If such a force existed, they would surely slither to the Basilisk Islands or the Rhoyne to continue with the piracy."

Duncan had a barely visible frown on his face. "Your grace, surely you don't mean to annex the Stepstones? That would invite war with the Free Cities. The memory of the Kingdom of the Three Daughters is still very fresh."

The Grand Maester bobbed his weathered old head up and down. "It is true, your grace. Such a move might not be seen well with the essosi."

Curiously, Lord Addam rallied to my side. "But what his grace suggests is a commendable plan." A finger flickered to Tyrosh. "The Freehold had intended for Tyrosh to control the Stepstones, but these whoresons seem to find the Stepstones useful only if it allows them to line their pockets through piracy. If we were to have a fleet based in the Stepstones, I dare say we wouldn't lose any of them to piracy that pass through the Stepstones."

I was starting to think that Lord Addam had something against the people of Tyrosh. He seemed to not like them all that much.

Duncan nodded. "I know my history as well, Lord Addam, but the truth is still true that we cannot just annex the Stepstones. We would invite war."

"I never said anything about annexing the Stepstones." I told my uncle.

He furrowed his eyebrows for a moment in thought. "No...no you did not." He recalled, but he still seemed confused. "If you were not speaking of annexation, your grace, then what where you thinking off?"

I tapped at Grey Gallows again. Seriously, this was a ridiculously convenient island. I didn't know how big it was, but considering that Westeros seemed to be an over-sized Britain with parts of Europe thrown in their for good measure, I suspected that the Stepstones were the Channel Islands equivalent.

So, I guess either about the size of Jersey or Guernsey give or take a couple hundred acres or something.

"I'm proposing that we build a naval base on the island to house a substantial portion of the Royal Fleet to drive away the pirates for however long that takes."

The Grand Maester rubbed at his jaw once more. "It's not an outright full annexation, but it might very well work."

"But the Free Cities might still feel aggrieved by this transgression." Duncan pointed out.

I nodded. "That is quite true uncle, but we have an excuse." I trailed my finger away from Grey Gallows and towards a certain Free City. "Tyrosh is currently ruled by a man that had helped a mortal enemy of House Targaryen. They provided men and materiel to help invade Westeros. Would the Braavosi, the Pentosi, Volantenes, Myrish and Lyseni begrudge us for setting up an outpost as a first line of defence against such a threat? Especially considering they have yet to renounce their support for Daemon Blackfyre."

My uncle smiled then, slowly. "No, no they wouldn't."

"Of course, considering the threat that the Nine still pause, it would only be natural for us to build upon the outpost and fortify and garrison it to make sure that it would be foolish to attack it as well as strike out as soon as possible if the Blackfyres and their allies make another attempt to make for Westeros' shores."

The others slowly started to smile amongst themselves as they started getting my meaning. "Yes," Lord Addam said slowly. "That would be very foolish." A smile creeping across his face as well. "And if we were to build additional outposts on other islands, it would only be within our rights, would it not, my lords?"

I was starting to like this guy. I liked his thinking. That was good thinking. Just had to make sure that we had a reasonable excuse for doing the shit that we were going to be doing.

"What of the trade ships then?" Ser Gerold asked, breaking the mood that had been slowly encompassing our little group. "Shall we be charging fares like the Kingdom of the Thee Daughters? That was what brought the wrath of Prince Daemon and the Sea Snake onto the Stepstones."

The good knight had a point, but I had already thought of this. "We won't charge any merchants that pass through the Stepstones." I said with a shrug. "It shall be a royal decree. Set in stone and law. No charging of fees, ever." I had doubts that any future kings were going to actually follow my decree, but why would I care? By then, I'd be long dead. "Of course, the Free Cities that dabble in the slave trade should be made aware that if ships of the Royal Fleet do come across slaver ships, regardless of allegiance, they will be boarded and taken and the slaves freed. It's only right for any man of the Faith to do so."

The others nodded their heads in agreement with that.

After that, we spoke of the logistics of such an action. We talked of men and ships. Of supplies of carpenters and food. We had the sailors, we just needed the men to be the boots on the ground.

Apparently, my idea of a royal army was going to come into being sooner than I would have liked. I still had people sorting out the logistics for that. This was going to be a very long kingship.

"I think we did good." Duncan said with a nod after everyone else had left the council chambers. "We both played our parts well."

Prince Duncan had been in on all this. Nothing more than a mummer's act from the both of us as we had decided on this course of action long ago.

I smiled at my uncle and raised a cup in his honour. "Couldn't have done it without you. It was easy enough to get Lord Addam aboard."

"Lord Addam is a good man and a good admiral. The sort of man other men would willingly follow. His men care for him and in turn, he cares for them. He's lost good men and captains in the Stepstones for a good cause that with each new surge in piracy, seemed to bear no fruit. That would make any man angry."

That was true. Such a thing would be infuriating if I cared for my men as much as Duncan was saying. "The ironborn...I can't honestly say I'm surprised."

Duncan frowned then. "Lord Quellon has been able to keep them well under control over all these years. So why now?"

I shrugged in lieu of an answer. "Perhaps they can't stand the current climate of the Iron Islands anymore? They want to relieve the old days of the Hoares and their ilk from long ago in the Stepstones. I'm sure Lord Addam and his men have sent enough of them to meet their Drowned God in the depths of the sea."

Duncan turned towards the council table. "We need to talk about the council though. We need a full council for the realm to be run as smoothly as possible. The reforms you have had the Archmaester Russell and his retinue of maesters and acolytes of law have been making this more difficult than it has to be." My uncle finished, his tone slightly exasperated.

"You and grandfather agreed with my reasoning that some of the positions were too powerful for their own good. I mean, look at how we have come to in terms of intelligence. We know nothing simply because the spies of Ser Joffrey worked for him instead of the crown." I shook my head. "This needs to happen. It will make things easier in the future. So bare the burden for just a little longer, uncle. Archmaester Russell has said that he and his people are close."

"I would very much like it if he would hurry up. It's been near four years already."

"You can't rush change, uncle. Change comes at its own pace. All we can do is help it along."


	34. 34 - Lys the Lovely & White Harbor

**xXx**

 **Ryam**

He had played them.

Utterly played them. And seeing him sit there with that stupid smirk on his face made Ryam want to give him a taste of the back of his hand.

Gripping tightly the handle of the tea cup in his hand, he slowly brought it to his mouth. "Do you make a habit of prancing about in your city disguised as a slave then?"

Rogaem, or as he had soon revealed himself not long after they had arrived at his manse, Maegor, smirked even wider than he was already doing. "Sometimes, I skip. It all depends on the day, good sers."

Harry somehow found all of this amusing judging by the chuckling that he was doing. "I do feel like the utter fool. Rogaem. Maegor. It's just your name backwards."

"I was feeling particularly lazy when I awoke this morning. Couldn't honestly be bothered coming up with a far more illusive name." Maegor said with honesty in his tone. He drank from his own tea before continuing. "Truly, I had expected for you to see through my barely thought out disguise. It seems you two are knights for a reason. Not much needs for brains when all you have is a sword hand, no?"

If he wasn't careful, Ryam was sure that the tea cup in his hands would be crushed underneath the strength of his grip. Or better yet, he can smash it on the face of this pompous fool up close and personal.

A lithe woman with a graceful air around her walked into the room they had been seating on. Like nearly everyone he had come to see in Lys, she had the features of Old Valyria on her. Silver-gold hair that seemed to shine with an unearthly beauty about her. Her clothing left little to the imagination as well as the sway of her hips.

Ryam might have been a guest, but he didn't like the owner of the house and just to show his dislike for the man, he was going to unashamedly stare at what he supposed was his wife. Or was this nothing more than a bed slave?

Maegor's eyes seemed to shine for a moment. "I see my wife interests you." He said, rising from his own seat across them.

Harry was doing his best not to stare. "She's very beautiful." He rose from the seat they were on and bowed. "A pleasure, my lady."

"So you do have manners." The woman said with a soft Lyseni accent to her voice, eyeing Harry. "A shame about your companion. He seems far more interested in ogling me than greeting me."

Harry blinked in confusion for a moment before turning to look at Ryam, his eyes widening in horror. The younger knight was quick to pull Harry up to his feet roughly and force him into an awkward bow of sorts. "Apologies. I don't know what got into my companion. Our ser taught us better."

"The man's a dick." Ryam grumbled under his breath for only Harry to hear. "Allowing me to ogle his wife is the least he can do for treating us like fools."

"No apologies are needed, knights of the Sunset Kingdoms. I am Elaena Rogarre, wife to this man you see beside me." Maegor's wife said, introducing herself, as she took a seat beside her husband. "If I had known we were having guests today, I would have worn something a little more fitting." She finished, her tone somewhat sharper as she glanced in the direction of her husband.

Rogarre? The name struck a bell with Ryam. Was this not the banker family that had married into some of the most prominent houses of Westeros? The Martells and Targaryens themselves could claim blood ties with the Rogarres.

What did Aerys want with them?

Maegor waved her concerns away nor did he address them as he turned his attention back to his guests. "So what would two knights in the employ of a Targaryen want with me?"

Harry pulled out the letter they had been sent to deliver, holding it out in front of him for Maegor to reach. "Our king told us to deliver this to you."

The Lyseni leaned forward and took the letter into his hands and began to read the contents within. His face showed nothing, and the same could be said for his wife that sat next to him. There was a silence between them as the man continued to read the letter, or perhaps he had read the letter and was merely thinking about it's contents?

Ryam had been interested in what the letter held, for what was so important that Aerys would entrust this task to them and only them to deliver to this man?

Eventually, Maegor folded the letter upon itself. "It seems I have much to discuss with my wife." He said in a neutral tone of voice that betrayed no thoughts behind it.

Ryam rested his elbow on his thigh and leaned forward. "I do admit, I am rather interested in the contents of the letter. Would it be too much trouble for you to enlighten us a little?"

"Ryam!" Harry let out, mortified. "Whatever is in the letter is only meant for the king and Lord Rogarre."

"I am no lord." The Rogarre scion remarked with an amused snort.

His wife beside him smiled coyly. "More of a prince than anything else."

Maegor's eyes were sharp on her. "Elaena."

"You never let me have my fun." The woman giggled with a roll of the eyes.

The meaning behind their words was lost to Ryam and Harry. Ryam didn't know how the government of Lys was run. Did it have princes or was that some sort of ceremonial title like that of the Pentos?

Maegor rung a bell to call for some servants or slaves or whatever he used. Mostly likely slaves. "I must think about what your prince-I suppose it's king now, proposes." A lovely, shapely woman with the choker of a slave walked into the room. Once again, Ryam was struck by her beauty. Do they not have ugly people on this island? He was beginning to think that all the less attractive people he had met had all been housed in the Foreign Quarters of the city. The owner of the manse continued to speak. "You shall guest in my manse until I come to a decision."

Harry nodded as he rose to his feet. "How long will it take for you to come to a decision?"

"However long it takes." Was the reply.

Harry frowned. "We will need to tell the captain of the ship that we came upon."

"Ah yes, that 'clipper' of yours. No worries, I'm sure there is much of Lys in the Foreign Quarters for your men to enjoy themselves in."

The Wendwater heir sighed in resignation before nodding. "Very well. We shall be guests in your home until the time comes."

"Excellent. Until then, I hope you enjoy your stay in my home." He smiled at them. "I'm nothing, if not, hospitable." 

**xXx**

 **Benjen**

Lord Manderly had said that this tourney was being held in honour for the birth of Benjen Stark. Benjen liked to think that the reason was more to show off the wealth of House Manderly and White Harbour more than anything else.

The prizes that he had set for the tourney had attracted much and many from all across the north, and even some from the south.

"Winterfell!" Rodrik Stark yelled as he held up a sword of the best castle forged steel up to glimmer silver in the sunlight.

The crowd went wild as men and women and children cheered alike. From the large grin on the face of his uncle, he could see that the man was enjoying all of the attention the spectators were lavishing on his very being.

"Father lost!" Brandon Stark, the heir to Winterfell wailed as he watched his father get helped to his feet by Rodrik. The young Stark had been so enthralled with the fight that he had left his raised seat to peak over the railings and into the ring below.

Looking at the young boy, Benjen couldn't help but groan. Gods, we Starks aren't very creative are we? There's now two Brandons and two Benjens. This is going to get very confusing.

Lord Manderly guffawed atop his seat, a chicken leg in hand. "Nothing to be ashamed off! The Wandering Wolf is the finest swordsman in all of the north!"

Wyllam Manderly was a large man. So large that Ben saw some of his fat overfilled the seat that he had taken. In truth, he was more surprised that the seat hadn't collapsed underneath all that weight.

"My cousin put up a good fight." Ben said as he placed a hand on the shoulder of his future lord. "It's just well, Uncle Rodrick is just better. You won't find many that will be able to defeat him when it comes to the melee or the lists."

Brandon turned his head, messy brown locks swaying suddenly to the side. "Like you?"

"Uncle Rodrik would break me. I'm good, but not that good." He couldn't help but laugh at that question.

Lord Manderly sagely nodded his head in agreement. "But I do think today is the day that Rodrik will finally meet his match."

Ben raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Oh?"

The fat man grinned widely as he took a bite out of his chicken. "My son Wyman is an accomplished knight himself. He did me and House Manderly proud fighting in the Stepstones. Today is the day he gains the title of the best swordsman in the north from Rodrik himself."

Young Brandon was disbelieving of that boast as he crossed his arms. "If father couldn't beat my uncle, then how can Wyman do that? That doesn't make sense."

"Little things in the heart of battle make sense. A master swordsman, the best in the world, can even lose if the gods so will it."

"How much are you willing to wager on it, my lord?" Ben propositioned.

It seemed he had garnered the interest of the Lord of White Harbour judging by the glint in his eyes. "A hundred gold?"

A hundred gold? He could easily make that. "I'll take that wager, my lord. Might as well start counting out the gold as of right now."

Wyllam laughed loudly. "Confident aren't we? No matter, my son will do me proud."

Brandon forced himself into the conversation. "A hundred? I will do you all better, five hundred!" The lord and Ben shared a look before guffawing, much to the younger Starks displeasure. "Stop laughing! It's not funny!"

Ben was the first to calm himself down whilst Lord Manderly continued to laugh among himself, a hand resting on his over-sized belly. "Do you even have five hundred gold dragons, little cousin?"

Brandon's eyes flittered to and fro for a moment before he spoke up. "Of course I do...just give me some time. I'll have the gold by then."

They laughed again, then their laughing was lost in the sounds of cheering from the crowd as Wyman Manderly walked into the ring, mace and shield raised high as he bathed in the sounds and adulation. Wyman wore a fine suit of armour draped in the white, green and blue of his house.

His attention was taken by the fight that was ensuing below in the ring. The melee had a been a round robin, with one fighter challenging any and all opponents who would try their luck on him. If he was defeated, the winner would then face the next challenger until he was defeated and on and on it went. Rodrik had entered the melee some three rounds back and he was still going strong, but Ben questioned how long his uncle would last. He wasn't a sprightly, young man anymore.

Ser Wyman gave Rodrik several moments to rest and regain his breath, an honourable feat, but probably one he wouldn't afford an enemy in the heat of real battle. The crowd's anticipation for the duel to start was palpable in the atmosphere. So thick that Ben thought one could reach out and touch it. Therefore it was a surprise to everyone when the two warriors suddenly came together in a flurry of sword and mace. Wyman was a powerfully built man, and Ben could have been forgiven him for thinking of him slow due to his size, but to his surprise, Wyman was to do more than just keep up with Rodrik.

Rodrik's sword might as well have been a coiling viper. It would strike at any gaps and weaknesses that had been presented by Ser Wyman, but the merman would dance away on agile feet, before closing in once more and trying himself to purchase the victory with swift but powerful blows of his mace.

Blows that would cause Rodrik to shake and stagger as they rattled off his shield. Eventually, his uncle stopped trying to block the strikes of the mace, and instead, had opted to dance away from them. And so, this deadly dance continued, all the while, Brandon watched on enraptured.

And Ben was beginning to feel a little bit nervous considering what he was seeing. Wyman Manderly was better than he thought and it seemed that Lord Manderly himself knew this judging by the glint in his eyes.

If I lose this wager, I'm never going to here the end of this from Bran.

His brother did always go on and on and on about his gambling. Sometimes, he was less a brother and more a nagging mother or wife. What a thought.

Thankfully, it seemed that he was not going to lose the wager as Rodrik was able to take advantage of a small opening when Wyman had over extended himself in a swing to charge him with his shield. The blow stumbled the Manderly knight, but not quick enough to stop the next shield bash to his face.

That knocked him off his feet as he was sent sitting onto his arse.

Rodrik pointed his blade in the knight's visor. "Yield." He spoke with quick, shallow breaths.

Wyman's hand was still grasping his mace, something Rodrik noticed because he shifted himself slightly to allow him the chance to retaliate if something happened. Eventually, the Manderly sighed and released the grip he had on his mace. "I yield." He said, his voice all nasally. Rodrik grinned and put away his own sword and helped him to his feet. "I think you broke my nose." Wyman said, as he removed his helmet.

Ben shook his head at the bloody mess that the remarkably handsome young man's face had become. "I believe you owe me a hundred gold dragons, Lord Manderly."

The Lord of White Harbour waved him off. "Oh you shall have your gold, good ser! But please, let's clap for that fantastic battle! Marvellous, I say! Truly marvellous!" He said with long, meaty claps.

Brandon was cheering as well, his little hands waving in the air. "Well done, uncle! Stark! Winterfell!"

The day soon came to an end, with Rodrik somehow surviving the round robin melee that he had entered in till the end. He walked away with the thousand gold dragons prize that Lord Manderly had set. The feast afterwards had a been a typical northern affair. Lots of ale, beer and wine. And as it was the Manderlys, a lot of food to be shared around as well.

It was only afterwards in the solar of Lord Manderly, that Benjen and Rodrik could get to business with Lord Wyllam and his heir that had also been invited.

"Wonderful day, was it not?" Lord Manderly chuckled, clapping his son's back. "You did well out there Wyman. It was just a bad draw of the straw to the quality of your opponent."

"Nothing to be ashamed about." Rodrik grunted with faux exhaustion. "You made me work for it. I think I can still feel some of your blows jarring my bones even right now."

"You flutter me too much, my lords." Wyman Manderly replied in a somewhat abashed manner. "But the talk of tourneys must come to an end now. Although your presence is well received, me and my lord father do have to wonder why you two are in White Harbour. You have not set foot in the north for more than six years."

Ben rubbed at his bearded jaw. "Well, if you think about it, I sort of have taken a few steps into the north through Bran."

Lord Manderly chuckled. "Quite the young man, Bran Stark is. A tad bit of a bore, if you don't mind me saying so."

"No offence taken my lord. He's my brother, I know how much of a bore he can be." He shook his head. "I hope he is not driving the men to madness with boredom with whatever he's doing out there in Hardhome."

Lord Manderly's chair creaked some as he leaned forward to put some weight onto the desk that sat inbetween them. "Ah yes, Hardhome. Pardon me for saying so, but I'm sure King Aerys knows what he is doing, but Hardhome is a cursed place. It is best left alone."

"I've told him much the same." Rodrik said, crossing his arms. "His grace doesn't care much for my advice. He says he has plans for Hardhome and Bran and the men that go there have been tight lipped as to what is happening there exactly."

"You have to give it to our king though, when he wants to keep something a secret, he certainly knows how to." Ben groused. He himself had been unlucky in getting anything out of his twin the few times that he returned to the capital.

"I've tried to sent traders and some of my ships up there, but the Royal Fleet stops any from going close." Lord Manderly's jowls quivered when he shrugged. "I came to the conclusion that it is in my best interest not to interfere in royal business, especially considering what the king has done for the north. And more specifically, House Manderly."

The Manderly's were one of the richest houses in the north. They probably had more gold in their coffers than everybody else in the north save House Stark. Those coffers had only started increasing in size when trade started to pick up through the help of House Targaryen.

With the new farming equipment that had been sold to the north, less men were needed to work the fields, leaving hundreds, thousands of people without much to do but just eat food. Then Aerys had suggested that House Stark prospect the northern mountains for any ores and precious metals.

The results of the prospects was slowly showing themselves to be rather fruitful at the moment, despite not having prospected the entire mountains. Their initial findings had ben deposits of iron, tin and other ores, along with precious stones like emeralds and rubies in some caves that seemed to go and on and on. All pointless though if we don't build the necessary roads to move them to the forges or markets. Ben was beginning to understand his king's seemingly mad occupation with building roads that had occupied his mind for the past few years.

Although he was still some way from improving upon the kingsroad as he wished.

"Perhaps he's treating with wildlings?" Ser Wyman suggested, then blinked when he noticed all of the eyes that were upon him. "What else could they be doing up there?"

"Preposterous." Lord Manderly's nose flared in outrage. "What could the king possibly gain from treating with those savages?" At his question they all couldn't give an answer.

The notion of treating with the wildlings was so foreign to them that it was completely foolish to even think such a thing. The southrons might not know what it is to feel the predations of the wildlings, of having to suffer men and children killed and women abducted by raiding parties, but the north certainly did.

And the north remembered.

How could they forget? After all, it was only several years past that a wildling horde came from the lands beyond the wall to kill his uncle Willam, the Lord Paramount of the North at the time.

Benjen then decided to move the conversation forward. "You were wondering what we were doing here, my lord. The simple truth is that Ser Wyman has been summoned to the capital."

The two Manderlys blinked, but slowly, Lord Manderlys eyes narrowed dangerously. "My son is no hostage to be held against me. Is Aerys so mad for my ships daring to go where they were not supposed to?"

Rodrik held up a hand. "Nothing like that, Lord Manderly. Believe me, I doubt he even cares. Or most likely, he would have found your curiosity well within your rights. He's offering House Manderly a seat on his council."

Now that widened the lord's eyes from their previous dangerous position. "A small council seat?" He blabbered, Ser Wyman's own expression of shock stitched onto his face.

"Council." Ben corrected and from beside him, Rodrik grumbled. He glanced in the direction of his uncle. "That were his words uncle. You know it. I know it. He's doing something to the small council and one of those is not referring it as the small council any more. He's very picky about these things." Aerys was a strange man, to say the least.

Some said that he was touched with the divine. Others were that the Targaryen madness was just manifesting itself in...peculiar ways to say the least. For only a mad man would have thought of some of the things that he had told him.

Ser Wyman eventually got a hold of himself. "I'm honoured, but am I truly worthy? Surely there must be others."

His lord father wasn't having any of that humble nonsense though. "Don't be ridiculous Wyman! You more than deserve it! I knew you were destined for great things the day you popped out from between your mother's legs. This is just the start I tell you!"

"Surely there must be others?" Wyman continued, much to his father's obvious chagrin. "Lord Artos Stark for starters."

"Aerys offered him a position. Artos didn't want it." Rodrik dismissed the question. "He then fell upon you and I agree with your lord father. I think you will be fine. You Manderlys are good with coin, are you not? You have more than the rest of the bloody north!"

"Master of coin is it?" Ser Wyman asked, hands cupping his chin. "I do have experience running the ledgers of both our house and the city, but a kingdom? Seven of them at that? That is going to be no easy task."

Lord Manderly was grinning now. "You will grow into it Wyman. Just like you grew into all your other responsibilities." He turned his attention towards Rodrik and Benjen. "He'll take the position. By the gods, he will."

Rodrik nodded. "Very well, I think it will be easier for everybody that we depart at the same time, no? Wyman will probably need someone to tell him about the south and King's Landing."

A blonde eyebrow rose up Ser Wyman's brow. "Such as?"

The Wandering Wolf grinned a very wolfish grin. "Always keep your wits about you. King's Landing is a viper's nest that is just patiently waiting for it's next victim. Don't let it be you."

Ser Wyman sighed despondently. "Lovely." 

**xXx**


	35. Chapter 35

**xXx**

 **10th Month 267AC**

Although it was only spring, no-one could be blamed to consider it to be summer. The burning ball of gas that hanged in the air thousands of thousands of miles away hanged lazily in the middle of the sky, so it was midday or thereabouts. I decided then and there to see whether I can get all those brainiacs that work for me to make as close to a mechanical clock as they could.

Wait a second, didn't I read once upon a time that there was some sort of clock in Braavos? If there was, I wouldn't really be surprised. It was Braavos. They had their shit together probably more than half the world.

Luc took grab of my arm and shook it with all the enthusiasm a five year old of his calibre could muster. "Father! Look, it's Ser Barristan!" He excitedly pointed down to the tourney grounds.

My attention was turned away from my thoughts of clocks to the lists below. Training my eyes onto the single knight dressed out in white enamelled armour, I did notice that it was indeed, the Bold himself. I ruffled Luc's hair. "Yes it is."

"It seems nothing escapes your vigilant eyes, dear brother."

Me and Branda shared a look from the corner of our eyes as we realised where this was going. I'm sure Dany and Luc loved each other much like any siblings. I had gone out of my way to make sure everybody liked each other. I wasn't about to have something stupid like what happened with Stannis and Renly happen.

I'd rather much prefer it if my house wasn't divided.

Luc leaned forward to look past me towards his sister who sat on the other side of both me and Branda. He stuck out his tongue. "Father wasn't paying attention. So I had to make sure that he knew what was happening."

I took offence at that. "I was paying attention, thank you very much."

"Then who happens to be the knight that has been able to make it this far then?" I could feel the smirk that was on Branda's face when she asked that question.

My eyes turned from my son who looked a little bit too pleased with himself for a moment to look down upon the jousting field once more. Ser Barristan was obviously the knight in white. No doubt about that.

So who was the other guy?

I looked at the sigil on his shield, a bull's skull on a red field. Nothing came to mind, so I scoured all of my knowledge on every house in Westeros that I could come up with. I eventually settled on a name. "Bulwer of Blackcrown." I answered, feeling rather smug about myself. "And if I might add to that answer some more, their house's words are Death Before Disgrace. You know, with words like that? I wouldn't mind him on the Kingsguard."

That was the entire point of this tourney.

The Kingsguard was severely understrength with only five active knights in it's roster. That wasn't even taking into account that my family was just happening to keep growing in size and that Duncan and his own family needed some Kingsguard for protection detail.

Dany had a playful grin on her face. "Well done Father. You can recognise the heraldry of your subjects. Now what about his name?"

I glared half-heartedly at my daughter. "Who's side exactly are you on?"

She laughed then, but Luc was nice enough to give me an answer to my question. "That's Ser Ashton Bulwer. He's done really well. Will he be joining the Kingsguard then, Father?"

"Mayhaps." I answered. "He has to impress not only me, but Sers Barristan, Gwayne, Lewyn, Harlan and Gerold. Especially those last five. After all, he will be trying to join their illustrious order of knights."

"I'm going to be a Kingsguard." Luc declared, little chest puffed out. "Going to be as great as Prince Aemon the Dragonknight."

Dany rolled her eyes. "You can't be a Kingsguard silly. You are the crown prince. The heir to the Iron Throne."

"Theo can be the heir then."

"Theo's a baby."

"Theo's three. He's not a baby anymore."

"Actually," Branda spoke up, cutting into the two's argument. "As far any of you are concerned, you are all my babies. Don't you all forget that. Now hush sweetlings, look, they are about to begin." She brought the attention back down to the jousting field below.

"Ser Barry is going to win." Dany declared confidently, her hands gripped to her skirts so tightly, I worried she was going to rip them. "He's the best knight in the realm."

I indicated with a free hand towards Ser Lewyn and Ser Harlan who stood guard at the only approach of the royal view box. "I would think they have something to say about that, isn't that so sers?" I asked the knights.

"Ser Barristan is alright. Not as good as me though." Ser Lewyn remarked in his Dornish drawl. Okay, I will admit that for some strange reason, the Dornish accent sounded a lot like a Spanish accent to me. Was that supposed to be normal?

Branda smiled down at the night. "But clearly not as humble as you, Ser Lewyn."

"I'm afraid not, your grace. Such a curse to be one as modest as me."

Ser Harlan shook his head slowly before giving his own answer to my question. "The ser might be good, but he's not as experienced as me."

"And I hope we all live to be as ancient as you, Ser Harlan." The Dornish Kingsguard remarked. "Hopefully, not as sour though. I like to be sweet tasting."

The Grandison scion slowly turned his white helmeted head to glance in the direction of the Dornishman. "...I'm not that old."

"Oh, my pardons then. So difficult to tell when you act as you do. One would think you are a hundred years of age."

The children giggled then and Ser Harlan shook his head in good humour before turning his attention towards to the field below. Ser Ashton's black destrier dug at the ground for purchase, snorting as it did. It seemed more like a wild bull more than anything else.

All it needed was a torero and we would have ourselves a party.

I guess the Bulwer's heraldry was more at home for the bull than for the knight.

Ser Barristan's own destrier on the other hand was as calm as a cool summer's breeze. It seemed to be as confident as it's rider as it's tail swished back and forth with a nonchalance about it that seemed borderline arrogance.

The squires passed forward the lances to both knights before quickly running away towards their own respective places. A silence came over the stands as the watching spectators that was made up of lords, ladies, townsfolk, both rich and poor waited in bated breaths for the knights to charge at it each.

At some unspoken signal, the two charged at each other, horses pounding the dirt hard that one could have mistaken for there to have been more than two riders. Yet, there were only two.

The Bulwer knight angled his lance to strike for a perfect blow on Ser Barristan's shield in the hopes of knocking him off his horse, but any smart man would have put their money on Ser Barristan. At the last moment, a little less than a hair's breadth away from each other, Ser Barristan shifted himself and his lance slightly, forcing the lance of Ser Ashton to glance of his own shield and for him to split the Bulwer's knight's own shield and strike him straight in the chest, his lance splintering into a thousand and one pieces.

The children gasped as Ser Ashton was send hurtling to the ground so violently that he landed with what seemed to have been an audible thud of a sound were he laid down unmoving. I admit, I was a bit worried about people dying at these things, especially in front of my children, but thankfully, it seemed the Bulwer wasn't so soft.

He was moving and was trying to get up when Ser Barristan wheeled around on his horse and dismounted it. He walked towards the knight in two easy, long strides before helping the man up to his feet with one effortless motion.

"Well fought, good knight." Ser Barristan acknowledged with a strong hand on his shoulder. "You showed yourself as for someone of true knightly talent."

Ser Ashton Bulwer made a couple of rusty coughs as he hit at his chest. "Not enough to win though."

"But perhaps more than enough to impress."

The stands were on the feet clapping in thunderous applause. I supposed it would only do for me to stand and clap as well, along with the rest of my family.

"I told you Ser Barry was going to win!" Dany said cheerfully.

"I never said he wasn't. Don't put words into my mouth." Luc retorted.

"Shush children," I sighed wearily. "Ser Ashton showed himself to be someone of skill as a knight."

"Are you going to induct him into the Kingsguard then?" Branda asked, curious.

"I will have to make a decision with the other Kingsguard knights. There were many knights that impressed these past few days." 

**xXx**

In front of me stood fifty knights. These were all the knights that had taken part in the tourney that had been one part bread and circus, another part job interview for the job of protecting their king. Out of these fifty knights, forty-two will be inducted into the newly reformed Kingsguard.

In front of me stood the current Kingsguard that I had at the moment. Ser Gerold the Lord Commander was the closest one standing to me. Ser Harlan as the effective second-in-command of the order of knights stood to his right and finally by Ser Gwayne. To the left of me were the relatively new knights compared to the old that included Ser Lewyn and Ser Barristan.

On the raised platform that I happened to be standing on happened to be my own family and my extended family through my uncle. Steffon would have loved to be here, but he had his own duties in the stormlands that he couldn't ignore for as long as he did.

Looking over the five by ten ranks of the knights I wondered if many of them were nervous?

I took a step forward and cleared my throat to gain their attention. "You all did well these past few days." I said in the best, 'I am the guy that is in charge' voice that I could do. "You all impressed and made me proud to be king to a realm full of knights with the likes of you all! No doubt that many a songs and tales will be spun about the achievements of many that you accomplished. You all earned the honour and most importantly, the right to demand free drinks!"

I could hear the laughter. I hoped my joke was a good one and that they weren't laughing out of pure courtesy to their king.

"As you all know, the purpose of this tourney was to find worthy knights to take upon the white cloak. The Kingsguard has been lacking in strength these past few years and I think-no. I certainly know that we have found the right men to adorn the illustrious clock and serve the realm well. Ser Gerold, if you could." I finished with a nod in the direction of the Lord Commander.

Ser Gerold stepped forward, solid brown eyes looking over the assembled knights will all the imposing might his large and powerful frame could give. "Ser Bryan Sunglass, step forward!"

From the back of the third column from the right, a man stepped away from his line and made his way to the front. Fair skinned, sandy haired and brown eyed, Ser Bryan was comely enough to make a maiden's heart swoon. I didn't care much for how pretty he was. I cared for how good he was with steel in hand, and Ser Gerold and Ser Harlan had given him the vote of confidence that he was good enough.

I remembered him a little. He didn't impress in the jousts, but apparently, he had more than impressed in the melee. I left the decision to the senior and seasoned knights who knew more about this crap than me.

It also kind of helped that he happened to be the son of a House that had been sworn to House Targaryen all the way back to the pre-conquest era, so loyalty was a given.

Ser Bryan stopped in front of Ser Gerold and kneeled. "Ser Bryan, in agreement with His Grace and my fellow Sworn Brothers of the White Swords, you are hereby inducted into the brotherhood." The White Bull glanced to the side where two attendants made their way towards him, holding a cloak, shield and sword of nothing more than pure white that it was like snow. The sword stood out though, it's hilt made out of dragonbone.

Ser Bryan took the items into his hands apart from the white cloak that was tied around his neck by Ser Gerold. "Rise now, not as a son of House Sunglass, but a sworn brother of the Kingsguard and take your place beside your new brothers."

"My thanks, sers, Your Grace." Ser Bryan said, rising to his feet and making his way towards the left were Ser Lewyn and Ser Barristan stood. Both of the knights gave their new brother a slight nod of acknowledgement.

Ser Gerold then continued with the ceremony. "Ser Ashton Bulwer, step forward!" He bellowed once more.

Ser Ashton was far more different than I had thought of him to be. His face was round and smooth that I thought him to be nothing more than a child, or younger, a babe. Jesus, how old was this kid?

I think Branda was of the same mind as she quirked an eyebrow ever so slightly before lowering it to regain her previous expression of regal neutrality.

Like before, Ser Ashton kneeled in front of Ser Gerold and was awarded a white as snow shield, cloak and sword with dragonbone hilt before taking his place with his new sworn brethren. But this wasn't the end of the ceremony.

I spoke up once more. "For all of you that were not awarded the honor of the Kingsguard, fear not, you can serve the Order and the Crown in more ways than you can imagine. It has come to my attention as of late that House Targaryen has somewhat increased in size as of late. Not by much mind you, but a noticeable amount that would mean that Ser Gerold and his brethren would be hard pressed to carry out all of their duties, thus by royal decree, I am extending the number of the Kingsguard from seven, to forty-nine!"

That gained their attentions as previous knights that had done their darnest not to look down at the notion of them not being chosen for getting the honour to become a Kingsguard. Apparently, being a Kingsguard meant a lot to some people. Who knew?

"This new formation of the Kingsguard would be as follows, six knights underneath the command each of the seven you see in front of you who shall be the Knight-Captain of your Chapter. Therefore, for those whose names have been called up, to come to the front and be given your cloak, sword and shield and stand in front of your assigned Knight-Captain." I paused for a moment to let that sink in. "But unlike those of your Knight-Captains, you may have the chance to serve the Kingsguard and their anointed duty for seven years of service, or serve for life. That is the choice that you shall have to make!"

I nodded once more to Ser Gerold to take the reins of the procession. "Ser Marq Rivers, come forth!"

And the first knight to be inducted into the First Chapter of the Kingsguard stepped forward, grim faced and pox scarred, Ser Marq strode forward. I do think he seemed somewhat pleased, or perhaps that was the Chelsea smile-like scar that was giving the wrong impression.

Like before, Ser Marq kneeled in front of Ser Gerold and was given his cloak, shield and sword with dragonbone hilt. Had to make the peons feel valuable after all, before standing to side of Ser Gerold. That was one down, forty-one more to go.

This was going to be a long day.

I realised that with my plans to extend the Kingsguard to become a deadly, elite, private force of the King that I was going to be doing this a fucking lot. So I supposed I might as well get some practice in whilst I was at it. 

**xXx**

 **11th Month 267AC  
**  
Wyman Manderly was surprisingly handsome. I don't really know what I had been expecting. I recalled from the books that the man had been given the nickname of Lord-Too-Fat-To-Sit-A-Horse. Then again, that was a little over thirty years into the future when he was a man nearing sixty. This was during the prime of his youth and man, was he a handsome, powerfully built, young blonde man with sea-green eyes.

And he was wearing that moustache like it was something fierce.

He rose at mine and Duncan's presence as we entered the small council chambers. "Your Grace, Lord Hand." He greeted with a polite and formal bow.

"Rise, Ser Wyman." I said, walking towards the man and clasping my hands onto his shoulders. That must have surprised him a bit. I grinned. "How do you find our fair city? Not too loud, I hope."

Duncan had given the Manderly knight and heir an acknowledgement that was more or less an incline of the head and a smile. Ser Wyman smiled somewhat. "Certainly more orderly looking than the last time I was here."

I removed my hands from his shoulders and guided him to retake his seat. "Ah, you rode south with my goodfather for the fighting in the Stepstones." I recalled whilst doing my best impression of a sagely nodded. "My goodfather tells me you made your valour and skill in better known. Killed a Company captain, if I recall correctly."

His grin was wide. "You recall truly, Your Grace. It had been a hard fight. The man was quick and powerful. He fought with honour, but he fell to my mace all the same."

"It sounds as if that had been one hell of a fight. Would have loved to see a knight such as yourself fight it."

"You praise me too much, Your Grace." Ser Wyman replied, slightly abashed.

"I praise you too little, you mean." I looked down at the seating Manderly knight. "White Harbor is the principal port of the north. So you deal with a lot of merchants and trade, yes?"

Ser Wyman nodded. "Aye, Your Grace. Some might say more than what should be appropriate for a noble house of our standing." He finished with a bit of bite in his voice.

Ah yes, trade and the likes were the realm of merchants and coin counters. To be honest, Wyman wasn't honestly my first choice in the matter. I had been meaning to approach one of the Arryns of Gulltown, but Rhaella had warned me off such a course of action. Apparently, the other Arryns would have taken offence at one of their lowly, coin-counting cousins being offered a position in any sort of royal council.

Bloody hell, the Arryns and their stupid honour.

Well, that was Rhaella's problem and not mine. I don't know how people reacted to being told how to raise their children, but I wanted to tell her that she should be wary of having her children's head being filled with nothing more than bullshit that could probably get them killed the Ned Stark way.

Rhaella's counsel was wise, but I still wanted an Arryn of Gulltown. That lot held the largest trade fleet in all of the Vale of Arryn and probably knew more about the overseas markets compared to the Redwynes and the Hightowers by virtue of being closer to Essos.

In fact, an envoy of theirs had been pawing at me to at least give them a chance of buying some of the clippers that were part of my burgeoning Merchant Navy. I can probably give them a position or something to do with that particular aspect of the growing crown bureaucracy and services.

"But you know of trade, yes?" Duncan asked. Ser Wyman nodded and Duncan smiled. "Good, because we are offering you the position of Minister of Commerce."

Wyman Manderly blinked in confusion. His large sea-green eyes seemed as lost as a deer in headlights. "Minister of Commerce, my lord Hand?"

Duncan nodded. "Aye, Minister of Commerce. Our Gracious King that you see in front of you has seen fit to reform how our government works." Ser Wyman looked at me and I smiled and waved. "The Minister of Commerce, if you accept the position, will be tasked with promoting, fostering and developing domestic and foreign commerce. Of course, considering the task at hand, you will be receiving all the aid available to you in setting up this arm of the royal government. We have slowly built up the bones, but there is still much to do and we hope your experience with such matters will come in hand." Duncan pulled out a sheaf of sheets that he was holding and handed them to Ser Wyman.

Ser Wyman took the papers, hazily looking over them for a moment before speaking. "I had thought I was to be Master of Coin."

"I abolished that particular office." I said with a wave of the hand. "Although your duties will comprise of duties that the Master of Coin would have taken care off when the office still existed. So my lord, will you take the office? Or will I have to find someone else?"

Ser Wyman stood up to stand tall. "I'll take the office your grace. I'll be your Minister of Commerce." He smirked. "Wyman Manderly, First Minister of Commerce has a nice ring to it, I think. I pity the fools that will have to follow after me, for I shall make sure that the shadow I set will reach till the ends of time."

"I hope it won't be fools following after you. That would not bode well for the state of the men of the realm." He laughed as I held out a hand and Ser Wyman clasped it by the forearm. His grip was strong, I think mine was strong, but I couldn't tell because my right hand was my stupid hand. "You should probably thank my regal wife, my lord." Ser Wyman raised an eyebrow. "She was the one who suggested a Manderly. She swore upon the old gods that you lot knew your business when it came to such matters."

The merman grinned widely again. "I shall make to do so, Your Grace."

An attendant was summoned to escort Ser Wyman to the part of the Red Keep that had been sectioned off to be the offices of that particular department of the government. Archmaester Russell was finally giving me and Duncan something that we could work with in order to reshape the government to suit it to something that wasn't so ludicrously skewered with too much power and responsibility being placed into the hands of too few a people.

And as the first sign of my government, I had pawned of the responsibility of foreign and domestic trade to a Manderly. The northerners were known to be somewhat loyal, especially to their precious Starks. It was a good thing that I happened to be shagging one then, wasn't it?

On the other hand, I really hope I was long dead and buried by the time a byzantine bureaucracy had the time to be formed. I didn't want to deal with that nonsense.

Duncan found and chair and suddenly dropped into it like a sack of potatoes. He let out a long held sigh of relief. "I feel as if part of the burden that has been forced on my shoulders has been lifted."

In a way, that was very much true, but only a part of his responsibilities at the moment. "Not that much. You still have quite the weight on your shoulders."

"Yes." Duncan agreed, taking a long, lingering look at me. "No thanks to my darling nephew who clearly wants to overwork me to death." I cast him a lovely smile and he ignored my play at charming him into forgiving his cute little nephew. "Are you ever going to talk to that Arryn?"

"Tommen Arryn?" I asked and he nodded. "Eventually." I rather liked having a monopoly on the fastest ships that could apparently, out carry most other ships this side and the other side of the narrow sea and any other sea. "He wants to buy my ships. I don't know whether I want to sell them though. Good economic sense tells me that I should, but I want to keep the crown's monopoly on trade at the moment on goods such as tea."

My clippers were able to make the journey to Qarth faster than anybody else could and bring them back before anyone knew what the fuck was going on. And due to the fact I had quite a few of them rolling out of the assembly lines, the markets were being flooded with tea leaves.

Sure, the price had gone down on tea, but that had seen a large increase in demand for the good as more people could afford it. Supply and demand at work. I'm sure there was more to it, but I didn't particularly care as the gold kept rolling in from all those tea merchants buying my shit in bulk quantities at the price that I set.

Maybe I should cut off the middle man all together? But then, I think I would be straying into the sort of territory a king shouldn't be seen straying into.

What was it that other SI's did in this situation? Dammit, I can't remember. Maybe I had written it down somewhere in my notebook of ideas.

I wondered if rice was a thing here? Maybe I should commission a trade mission to Yi Ti and have some boots on the ground, so to speak.

My Hand nodded his head slowly. "Remember, you are a king, Aerys. Not a merchant. Best leave such dealings to such people."

"I know uncle." But gold was ever such a pretty colour.

"We received a raven from Lord Addam." He told me.

I raised an eyebrow. "How did it go?"

Duncan stood up from his seat. "They had to fight off a couple of pirates and slavers. Captured most, and all of them sent to the gallows. Thankfully, one of the bases of the slavers is a natural harbour, easily defensible and fortifiable as well. Although he is requesting some instructions on a matter of concern." I raised my eyebrow at my uncle to let him continue. "Those slavers were about ready to transport a large cargo of slaves to the markets of Tyrosh, Myr, Volantis, Lys and Slaver's Bay. Most of them don't have homes to go back to."

"Refugees." I said without prompt. Westeros was insular and no doubt, people were going to make a hassle of having a foreign people worshipping foreign gods in their land. I'm sure that in the larger cities, seeing foreigners was nothing new, but I didn't particularly think this far ahead when it came to the freeing the slaves part of the calculation. "Grey Gallows is a big island. I'm sure we can build a settlement for them there."

My uncle had an eyebrow raised. "And if it grows to bursting? I suspect these will not be the only slaves our fleets rescue from their sad fates."

"I'll think of something." I walked towards the large map of the known world that I had installed in the council chambers. I picked up a pin and placed it on the island of Grey Gallows. "Grey Gallows." I mouthed loudly with a shake of the head. "What a nice cheerful name."

"You wish to rename it?"

"Perhaps." I answered vaguely. "When our hold over it is a little less tenuous and more solid. And when I think of a suitable enough name."

"Speaking of names, what shall Lord Addam call the naval base?"

I stroked my chin and tried to think of something. Well, since I was going mad with the dragons everywhere theme, might as well keep going. "Fort Balerion. After the Black Dread."

"I think by the time it grows to the size you envision, it will be more than a simple fort."

"Trust me uncle, Fort Balerion just works."

Duncan had something of a wry smile on his face. "Shall we be expecting two more dragon forts in the future then?"

I turned to face him, my grin more than a little something on my face. "Uncle, you do not even know." I turned back to the map. "The problem still poses that we have to hold the island somehow. We need something like the Free Cities."

"Hire a sellsword company?" Duncan asked with mild distaste. My uncle didn't care much for sellswords.

"No. Not that." I shook my head before continuing to speak. "We need a citizen army like the one Tyroshi one we fought against in the Stepstones."

Duncan sounded a little hesitant and uncertain. "...How many numbers are we talking about in this royal army of yours?"

"In the crownlands alone, we can call upon fifteen thousand men." I think that number had increased substantially over the years because there was less need for entire families to work the fields with little things such as a seed drill and a rudimentary horse pulled threshing machine.

Fuck me. I didn't expect much from the threshing machine. I had just sounded of my ideas to a gathering of blacksmiths and artificers and offered a cash prize on the first one who got that shit done. Someone eventually walked away a very rich man. Richer than he had come.

"I want those fifteen thousand men to be a standing army."

Duncan winced noticeably. "You are beginning to sound like a tyrant, Aerys."

I spun to face my uncle. "How do I begin to sound like a tyrant? Tywin keeps a strength of five thousand men-at-arms at a given time. You don't hear any of the river or reach lords complaining about that."

I actually had yet to hear anyone complain about Tywin keeping a constant standing army of five thousand men at Casterly Rock and the surrounding area. Considering the fact that he had a claim to Coldmoat and it's lands from his grandmother being Lady Rohanne Webber was simply ridiculous that no-one was yet making a complaint about that.

"My words were too strong, I admit." Duncan said in a tone that called for me to calm down. I was calm. I don't even think I was even that heated on the subject. I just wanted to know how I was sounding like a tyrant. "It is just think of how some lords might feel about us holding a standing force."

I would like to say, fuck them, but diplomacy was the best course of action. "They didn't complain much when we had dragons."

"That's a different matter altogether. You know it, I know it."

"Not really. I'm just proposing we replace dragons with an army loyal to the Iron Throne." I stopped for a moment. "And anyway, we have a Royal Fleet, why not a Royal Army?" It wasn't that much of a leap in logic.

My uncle was quiet for a moment. "You do have a...point. But how do you plan on making these men stay loyal to the Iron Throne?"

"Good pay and benefits for their continued loyalty to the Iron Throne."

"Land?" He asked, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"There is more to earning a man's loyalty than land, uncle." I stopped for a moment. "Although it does help. Look, okay, maybe we can make a compromise. A standing force to protect our new acquisition from any retaliations by the slavers, pirates or Tyroshi or whoever."

"Raised from the freed slaves." He countered.

"How many freed slaves are even there? A couple dozen? I think we'll need more men than that."

"A couple hundred actually." My uncle told me before going back to the matter at hand. "A thousand men."

"Five."

"Two thousand."

"Five."

Duncan gave me a dry look punctuated by his purple eyes. "I don't think you understand how this works. And five thousand is more than needed to protect the base and island."

"I understand it very well. I just care not to play this particular game and you can never be too careful, uncle. More is good."

My uncle and me had something of a stare down before he sighed in resignation. "Fine. I'm sure we have more than enough gold."

I grinned at him. "You are the best uncle." I had no actual intentions to you actually keep to five thousand. My target was the fifteen thousand men mark. The estimated miitary strength of the crownlands. It was going to take time, but that was better than nothing.

"Every day it seems like I spoiled you too much as a child. I regret everything now." He said as he made for the exit of the small council chambers, leaving me alone.

I turned to look at the map of the world map and the little coloured pin that had been placed onto Grey Gallows. Honestly, I wasn't having dreams of conquest or anything like that.

Honestly, my grand master plan revolved around my five point plan. More specifically, Point Five. Have a back-up plan or some place to run away screaming too. All good leaders had a basic idea of what they wanted to do in their term of office and I certainly knew what I wanted to do. So where was the sin in working towards that goal?

And anyway, Duncan was more than right. Five thousand is more than far too much to hold the island from threats such as pirates and slavers. A thousand would probably do, but I planned for the posting to be on a tour of duty basis. Just needed to figure out the finer details and then I would have something there.

It was also about time to see how my new generation of a professional officer corps was going to handle itself in the field.


	36. Chapter 36 - King's Landing

**xXx**

Ian walked up to the knight that he had been directed too, awkwardly playing with the truncheon that hanged loosely around his waist. "Ser Martyn?" He asked politely.

The knight looked up from his desk and raised an eyebrow. "Ah, you must be the new one that I've been partnered with."

Although his hair was more grey than black that was the only signs of age that Ser Martyn was older than he looked. His weathered face was youthful looking and his brown eyes danced with life and his smile was that of a younger man.

Ian removed the black trimmed with red custodian helmet on his head and held at his side and saluted Ser Martyn. "Ian Fletcher, ser."

Ser Martyn gave a good hearted chuckle. "That something you learn in that fancy academy you green boys keep coming out of?" He asked as he looked him over.

"Yes, sir." He replied with a flush of the neck. "It's only proper to show the respect to my superior. They drilled that into us."

Ser Martyn rose from his seat, hand grabbing at the sword belt that was lying beside him. "Well, I have half a mind to think this is all useless, you know? What ever happened to the days when the goldcloaks just recruited man from the street? But it be far above me to make matters of policy." He said as he tied his sword belt around his waist. He grabbed at the black flat, peaked cap with trimmings of red and threw it onto his head. "Come on now. Let's see how you handle yourself on a patrol. Might as well see if all the fuss into your training is worth it."

"Yes sir." Ian said quickly as he followed after the older man, placing his own helmet onto his head.

Ser Martyn didn't speak much after that, only speaking when he had something to say or teach Ian as they made their round of the city. In the fishmonger's square, he had told Ian that it was best that he kept his purse close to himself as possible.

Pick pockets were rife in places such as these. Men, children, but mostly children. No-one ever suspected the children the old knight had told him.

"Look over there, at that group of urchins." He pointed in the direction of a group of children that were idly standing next to the entrance of the square. "A few years back, there would have been thousands of them, but the Faith has been taking in any and all urchins. Has cut down our workload more than you would think." He finished with a laugh. "No need to chase the little buggers when they make off with some merchants purse."

Ian studied them for a moment. "What are they doing?"

"Right now? Nothing." Ser Martyn said, taking a moment to bring out some sourleaf and popped it into his mouth and started chewing. "They know we are watching them. Give it a few moments and they'll crawl back to their hole or look for some other place to make their mark."

As if to prove his point, one of the older children kicked the dirt on the ground and began to make his way away from the square, the other children following after him.

Ser Martyn grinned. "See?"

After that, they went up the Mud Gate Road from the square, heading towards the centre of King's Landing, the Dragon's Square. Over the years after King's Landing had been built, the Square had become the centre of the city, with all the roads from the gates leading up to it.

When King's Landing was being rebuilt, the square that had been near Rhaenys' Hill had been extended to stretch further into the city so that it was located somewhere near the centre.

It was said you could find anything in the squares. Jewellers, fishmongers, inns, brothels among others. It was also the busiest place in the city. It was as if every one who called King's Landing had come to make this square home. The roads saw unending traffic of wayns, carriages and pedicabs going to and fro.

In the centre of the market, three large statues dominated over everything. One of the statues was that of Aegon the Conqueror himself, a hand wrapped around the hilt of Blackfyre with it's point stabbed into the ground, one arm around the statue of Rhaenys and on the other side, a statue of Visenya, standing defiant and commanding with Dark Sister in hand as well. The marble statues not only stood taller than anything else, they had also been coloured to such a point that they were almost life like that when Ian had first seen them, he had thought the giants had come again.

Ser Martyn had caught him staring. "Impressive eh? Our good king does love reminding everyone about his famous ancestors."

"The statues seem like they might just come alive and walk among us." Ian breathed out in wonder.

"It's said the good king had invited a master sculptor of unparalleled fame from Essos to come and carve those." Ser Martyn told him. "It's also said that the statue of Aegon is less in the Conqueror's like and more in that of the king himself."

Ian gave a look to the knight. "Surely that's not true. Why would he do that?"

Ser Martyn shrugged. "Who knows?

At an intersection, they passed one of their members that was busy directing the flow of traffic. Ser Martyn had tipped his hat at him and in respect, Ian had copied the man's movement.

"Would hate to have that duty." Ser Martyn said with a shake of the head. "Especially as a knight. That would be nothing more than a stain on my honour. A good thing then that only constables like you can ever be assigned such a duty. Best learn to prepare for it."

"I will." Ian said with a nod. He wasn't a knight, so he didn't really care much about the stain on his honour. He had become a member of the goldcloaks because he believed in the vision of the king. To safeguard the city from crime and bring fair law and order to the people and the lands of the crownlands.

By the time the sun was setting in the west and dusk was upon them, Ian's feet hurt from all the walking that he had done. It was a good hurt.

The last of their patrol had led them towards the docks. The lack of light had made the shadows more pronounced and the dark thicker.

"Best keep a good hand on your sword belt, Ian Fletcher." Ser Martyn told him. "King's Landing is not the city she was a few years back, but she will still swallow you whole if you are unwary."

"I don't have a sword, ser." He placed his hand on the truncheon though. "Only this."

Ser Martyn unhooked a torch that had been on his sword belt. "Ah yes. The new regulations."

Ian nodded. "Only a knight or those of rank of Inspector and above may carry bladed weapons in His Grace's Lawful Police." He recited from the Book of General Instructions that had been given to him when he had been admitted into the academy.

"Do you at least know how to use that, Fletcher?" He asked, glancing at him.

Ian gave a firm nod. "I was taught how to fight with a truncheon, sword and fist. I can handle myself, ser. You have no need to worry about me."

"What sort of name is Fletcher, anyway?" The knight asked, out of the blue. "I don't think I've ever heard of a House Fletcher."

Ian could feel his face aflame. "I'm not of noble blood, ser. My father is a fletcher. I just took Fletcher as a name when I was told to."

Ser Martyn laughed. "You don't speak like one of the commons, that's for sure. You could have fooled anyone with your eloquence."

Ian had been told how to speak at one of the schools and even more of how to act and speak at the academy. How he represented himself could very well be the difference between a life and death matter, he had been taught.

Something caught his eye. "What are they doing?" He asked, pointing in the direction of a group of men cloaked in shadows.

Ser Martyn's eyes narrowed when he looked upon the group of men. "Something illegal, I suspect." He began to make for them. "I hope you aren't a craven, Fletcher. I'd hate to have to report that you ran and left me to take on a group of men by myself."

Ian steeled himself as they got closer to the group of men. "I'm no craven." As they got closer, a strange smell wafted into his nose. It was a smell that he could recognise. The sort of smell he knew from when his mother cooked for them. "Oil." He hissed.

Ser Martyn's face hardened. "Sabotage." His hand went towards his sword belt before he called out to the men. "In the name of the king, identify yourselves!"

The group, four of them jumped at the sound of Ser Martyn's booming voice. Ian went towards the whistle that hanged around his neck, prepared to use it as a just in case.

One of the men, thin and lanky stepped forward, one of his teeth glinting in the little light they had. "Nothing more than humble, merchants, good ser." He said in a disarming tone, but there was something about him that made it difficult to trust.

Ian noticed that the other men had stopped the spilling of the contents of the barrels and had started move themselves so that they surrounded them.

Ser Martyn didn't let this escape him. "Merchants you say...funny thing about that, why spill your merchandise then?"

"A bad batch." The man replied easily enough, teeth glinting in the light. "I was cheated and told by an Ibennese merchant that this whale oil was of the highest quality. It wasn't and unfortunately, I cannot sell it."

"Whale oil? I'm sure you would have found a buyer for such a good." Ser Martyn bit back, his eyes shifted to the men that had surrounded them now. "And I don't like how some merchants are surrounding us."

"Yes, well," The man began, his smile growing a little sinister with how it stretched across his face. "I was never much of a merchant." He finished before he pulled out a dirk from within his clothing.

The other three did so as well.

Ser Martyn drew his sword and Ian his truncheon, his heart thundering in his ears. "There's no need for this." Ian said calmly. "Just lay down your weapons and hand yourselves in. You will be given a fair trial."

They didn't care all that much for the terms they were offered. The men launched themselves at them. Ian had time to pop the whistle into his mouth and give one long blow before a high, shrill sound escaped from the little instrument.

He then brought down his truncheon in a high arc down on the closest opponent to him, an attack that the criminal was barely able to step away from. Ser Martyn had already taken care of one of the supposed merchants by open his stomach to allow his guts to flow freely.

The knight was currently having his attention taken by two men, but he was fighting them off easily enough. He had the advantage of range with his arming sword.

Something that Ian didn't have as he continued to battle his own opponent. He knows how to fight. Ian realised as he continued this deadly dance. The air whistled as the man slid to his right and sliced for his neck.

Ian was barely able to lean his neck back just in time for the blade to miss, and he released another blast of his whistle. The same shrill sound escaping from it before going on the offence himself. He swung at him from the left, the right, from below and from above, but his opponent continued to evade them.

In one instance, he cut at his wrist, drawing blood, but thankfully, no vein was cut open or that would have been the end of him. By now Ser Martyn was on the ground wrestling with the last of the merchants, the one with the shining teeth.

Ian then surprised his own attacker by throwing his helmet at him and then charging into him like a bull, lifting the man of his feet for a moment before they crashed into the ground. The man's head slammed of the pebbled road with an almighty crack before going limp.

"Never seen something like that before." Ser Martyn grunted from above him.

The sudden voice of the knight had surprised him that Ian nearly brought his weapon to bear upon the knight. "Please don't do that."

In the distance, he then heard the shrill cry of a whistle. Then another one. And another. And another.

Both he and Ser Martyn looked at each other. "This is going to be a long night." The knight grumbled as he wiped clean the blood that was on his blade. "Tie him up. If he's still alive. Then we'll go help our fellows."

Ian nodded. "Yes, ser."

Further down the docks, a great fire suddenly roared into life.

 **xXx**


	37. Chapter 37

**xXx**

 **11th Month 267AC  
**  
I was beginning to get dreadfully tired of people trying to burn my city. It was becoming more than a little vexing, especially after the last one.

Marching into the situation room with purpose, getting the attentions of the other men of import that were inside. "Your grace." They all greeted at once, bowing as they did so.

I raised them up as I rounded the table they stood around. "Can someone explain to me why the fuck my city is on fire?"

"Saboteurs, your grace." Ser Desmond Merchant answered. Looking him over, I recalled who he was. One of the old guard from my grandfather's administration, the Lord Commander of the City Watch. "Several of our patrols came across them after dark spilling oil across the docks, warehouses and many a ship."

"Tell me you captured some?" Duncan asked, a frown playing at his lips.

Ser Desmond nodded. "Some and more, Lord Hand. Give it time, and we'll soon know who sent them."

"Good." I said with a nod. "I want answers. Do what you have to." Never thought there would come a time when I would be quite alright with torture. Actually, I shouldn't be alright with torture. Torture was iffy. Fuck it, I'll deal with it afterwards. "The fire?" I prompted.

"We have it under control." Marq Stokeworth told me. He ran a hand on top of the map that rested on the table. It was a map of his city and his hand came to a stop on the docks. "We've stopped it from spreading anymore from this block here. But," he then ran his hand further down the representation of the docks. "Another one was started just a few blocks away. I have my men dealing with both, but they have come under attack from the saboteurs. They either fire some bolts or arrows then slink off into the shadows. It's been hampering the fire fighting effort."

Marq Stokeworth happened to be the Chief of the City Fire Brigade. He was the one I had placed in charge of making sure that when a fire did happen, as in this case, he would be able to direct the fire fighting efforts well enough along with a myriad of other duties that came with a fire brigade.

"I've had groups of gold cloaks running protection detail on the fire crews. Hopefully, this will curb the boldness of these saboteurs." Ser Desmond informed me. "But most of them are being used to try and keep the order."

I raised an eyebrow. "Order?"

"Memories of the fire seven years ago are still very much fresh in the minds of the people, your grace." Ser Desmond said. "They want to help as much as they can with the fire fighting. I've had men stop them from rushing towards the docks. Of course, there are others that are trying to use this chance to loot and commit other kind of crimes."

Marq Stokeworth shook his head. "Not that I mind the bravery of the people, but in this case, they will be more of a hindrance than a help. Ser Desmond has been doing good work to making sure that the people leave this to the professionals."

I looked at the chief policeman. "If you need any more men, don't be afraid to ask. We'll be able to spare some guardsmen and knights to help keep the peace."

Ser Desmond bowed again. "I will let you know of any change in situation, your grace."

I dismissed Ser Desmond and Marq Stokeworth after that. It just left me and my Hand in the room. Duncan passed me a chalice of mulled wine. I looked up as he held it in front of me.

"Drink up," He told me. "I believe it's going to be a long night. That, and we'll probably need more of this."

I took the chalice and downed some of the wine. I grimaced slightly. I didn't agree with the taste of mulled wine, but I far preferred this to wine itself. Swirling the contents of the chalice, I spoke to my uncle. "How much would you be willing to say this involves the Tyroshi?"

"A fool's bet." Duncan walked himself to his own chair. "They have been harassing our merchants and we've been harassing theirs."

"I'm starting to think the Tyrosh problem needs to be solved soon enough." I was getting rather tired of this little, sort-of war we were having. Both of us would look the other way when one of our own disrupted their own interests in a way.

"Make peace?" Duncan suggested, purple eyes flickering towards his own chalice, the contents within still as the God's Eye lake. "Admirable. But would Alequo accept it? He's after all, one of the most prominent members of the Nine."

I snorted when I thought of the Nine. "And the only one of note at that." I didn't hear much about the rest or what they were doing, but before Ser Joffrey had died, he had informed us enough to know that whilst some of the rest of the Nine had set up petty kingdoms of their own, they were nowhere near as successful as Alequo.

If I remember correctly, one of the Nine had set himself up as King of the Disputed Lands, quickly taking quite a chunk of territory that was claimed by Myr and Lys. Suffice to say, the two Daughters of Valyria took exception to this.

Apparently, he was now involved in a grinding war of attrition against the two cities with defeat inevitable.

At the very least, he was stubborn.

I took another drink from my chalice. "Well, we should at the very least make overtures of peace. I would rather not throw us into another war." I didn't mean to beggar the realm by constantly fighting wars. I wasn't going to be Richard the Lionheart.

"Who would you sent?" My uncle asked. He rubbed at the smartly trimmed beard that he had been growing. "Someone of prominent stature in the realm. Anyone less and Alequo might very well take it as insult."

That was true. The Essosi might make overtures of the Westerosi as being nothing more than barbarians, they sure played to the same tunes as we did when it came to little things like that. Mayhaps I was being too hard on them. For all I knew, back on Earth, sending someone that wasn't of suitable status could very well be seen as an insult.

"I would sent you, truth be told. A prince to a prince." I admitted. "But that would be foolhardy. For all I know, Alequo could very well capture you and try to use you against me or as some sort of bargaining chip to be used in some other way."

Duncan's eyebrows creased slightly as he frowned. "True. I would say that the harming of envoys is frown upon by ancient hospitality from the furthest of reaches of the east to the west, north to south, but history has proven that some men care for nothing as such."

"Tell me about it." The Freys and the Red Wedding came to mind. "I will have to sleep on this. I'll probably have some sort of answer later on." 

**xXx**

The fires down by the docks had raged on for most of the night and only until a little after the sun had rose from the east was it put down. I had said I would sleep on it last night, but I had been unable to find any sort of sleep whilst my city burned.

Again.

The dock fires hadn't been as bad as the one that had happened because of my carelessness along with the scheming of the maesters several years ago, but I certainly knew I was going to feel this fire in my incomes. I cared for my cash cow more than some what would think is appropriate.

But I had business to attend to. Just because a fire had happened in the city did not mean I could just leave everything to the side for now.

It was about time that I met with Tommen Arryn. Duncan had been right. I was a king, not a merchant. My high lords cared about these things.

And it's not like I knew anything about being a merchant anyway. I just saw a lot of gold coming into treasury and hugged the gold for all it was worth.

"Your grace." Tommen Arryn bowed when I made my appearance.

I bid him to take his seat. "My lord." His branch of the family might have been ignored by the rest of the family and weren't considered true lords, but he was still a lord nonetheless.

Tommen Arryn lived up to his name of Arryn. In fact, I would dare say that if Hitler saw Tommen Arryn, he would have been proud to have him serve as a picture perfect example of the typical Aryan that he so endorsed. Blue eyed, blode haired and fair skinned, he was Hitler's dream or any a maiden's in truth.

Of course that he was going to be meeting royalty, he had come dressed in his finest clothes and in the style of the capital as well. What I meant as in the 'style of the capital', was that he simply wore a suit. Apparently, I was more of a trendsetter than I thought I would be.

I just realised that half of my court wore suits. It had become so much a common thing that I had completely come to accept it and not even notice it. I just noticed it on Tommen simply because it was mostly courtiers new to court that stood out like a sore thumb among the suits and tuxedos that had become more or less common in the capital.

I certainly hadn't seen him wear one when he first made his appearance. He certainly was wearing one now.

I noticed the white falcon of Arryn flying above a grey gull stitched onto his left breast. I moved to the decanter at the side. "Drink?" I offered.

Tommen Arryn shook his head. "No thank you, your grace."

I nodded and poured myself one. I was already here, might as well and I was rather parched. "I hope your stay in the capital has been pleasant...apart from last nights festivities."

"More than pleasant, your grace. King's Landing has always been the jewel of the Seven Kingdoms. Somehow, you have made it shine brighter than it had already been." Well, he was certainly a flatterer, I would give him that.

I rounded the table to my side and took my seat. "Been here before then, I take it?"

He nodded. "On business. It honestly surprises me every time I make port now. It's so different from how I remember it in my youth. I remember having to look at a map once, to make sure that we had sailed to the right destination, so different it was!" He finished with a pleasant chuckle.

I joined in as while. "The credit has to go the architects and the builders. Without them, this city would be wholly different." I placed my cup onto the table and wringed my fingers together. Time for business. "You are here to buy my ships."

Tommen Arryn's back straightened as he nodded. "Aye, your grace. Your clippers are simply something revolutionary to seafare. Not even the swan ships of the Summer Islanders can match their speed and cargo carrying abilities. House Arryn of Gulltown would very much like to have some of those ships in it's trade fleet."

I picked up my drink and leaned into the cushioned leather of my chair. "How many ships do you currently float?"

"Thirty-seven, more than half of them cogs, some war galleys to protect them on long journeys. We even boast one of the few swan ships outside of the Summer Islands."

I raised an eyebrow in pleasant surprise. "A swan ship? How did you come across that?" From what I understood, the Summer Islanders were fiercely protective of their ships, much like how they were fiercely protective of their goldenheart bows.

"Piracy, your grace."

I think I nearly choked on my drink. I did not expect him to just admit to it like that. "How honest of you."

"Honesty builds trust, your grace. And I would very much like it for you to trust me."

Well, that wasn't such a bad thing to have. "Not a bad policy to have, Lord Tommen." I pulled out a license and made a show of it to stamp it with my seal. "Very well, my lord. After having read your petition, you can now purchase clippers for your own use. Take this license to the Arsenal and make your order. I suggest you have the gold on hand though, your ship will be ready for you by the end of the day."

Tommen Arryn might as well have been salivating as he stared hard at the license that I pushed over to his side of the table. "So it's true then? The Crown possess a shipyard of the scale of the Arsenal of Braavos?"

I smiled then. "Mayhaps a little bit bigger. We do have more land to spare, after all."

The merchant-lord smiled then, shaking his head as he rolled up the license. "Many have tried to replicate the achievement of the Braavosi and their famous Arsenal. Many have failed, until you."

I raised my cup. "Until me."

"If not overly presumptuous of me, your grace, but how did you come to do it?"

"Crown secret, I'm afraid."

"Perhaps there is more than a measure of truth in you being blessed."

Actually now that he was here. "House Arryn of Gulltown boasts itself to be amongst the richest Houses in the Vale, no?"

The merchant-lord nodded his head, a little bit of pride in that little action. "The only ones richer than us would be the more prominent houses of the Vale. Our cousins the Arryns of the Eyrie. The Royces of Runestone. The Redforts of Redfort. House Grafton of Gulltown. Although many of them decry us for how we came to make our wealth." He finished, perhaps a little bitter.

"We all have to make our way in this world somehow." Says me, the guy that was born into royalty. Not much making into the world on your two feet when everything is given to you. "I can't decry a man for trying to put food on the table for his family."

Tommen Arryn had a strange look in his eyes but he nodded nonetheless. "Aye, that we do, your grace."

"I have a venture in mind. A venture that could very well prove to be more profitable than most. I have the men, the material and certainly the gold, but it never hurts to have partners in the venture."

"And you would like for me to invest in it?"

"If you wish. It will be costly, both in gold, men and material, I will not lie to you about that. But the numbers for it certainly mean that it will return the initial investment quicker than the time it took to build it."

I could see the gears turning in his head before he nodded. "I'll think about it your grace. May I have your leave?"

"Of course. Fair travels in your journeys, my lord." Tommen Arryn left after that, more than likely going straight for the stables and demanding for his horse before riding hard for Aegondale and the Shipyard there.

Alright, with that done, I looked to my appointment book. Who was next in todays dealings? Flipping through the pages, I noticed I was free for the day.

Huh, nice.

I was about to take a moment to relax before turning to my adminstrative duties before a knock rang of my door. It seems I wasn't going to be relaxing anytime soon.

"Come in!" I yelled out. I smiled when I noticed who it was. "Harry! Ryam!" I greeted my former squires as they walked in. I rose up from my seat and rounded to give each of them a hug. What can I say, the two little shits had grown on me, Ryam as well, even though he was political suicide for anyone somewhat barring me. "When did you come back?"

"Just now." Harry answered. He looked out the window that faced the Blackwater Bay, but I had an inkling that he was looking in the direction of the docks. "We saw the burnt buildings. What happened?"

"A fire." I told them as I bid them to take a seat. "And it wasn't an accidental one as well."

Ryam shook his head. "That explains the gold cloaks then. We found the man you sent us to look for."

I smiled. That was good news. Very good news. "And?"

"He's sort of an arse, but he's here." Ryam stabbed a finger in the direction of the door. "He's out there. We sort of insisted that he come see the king. We figured with how you said you were sending us on an important task, you wanted to talk to him as soon as possible."

"Very." I said with a nod. Ryam rose up from his seat and went to the door, opening it before inviting the man in. Maegor Targaryen certainly looked Valyrian. And a bit like a girl. Long silver-gold hair, and purple eyes, with eyeshadow that accented those very same eyes and richly dressed in Lyseni silks. He was youthful looking to the point that it was difficult to tell how old he was. I knew for a fact that he was older than me. I rose up from my seat. "It's finally nice to meet you cousin."

Ryam and Harry shared a look. "Cousin?" They said at the same time on some unspoken signal.

I gave the both of them a nod and indicated to the man who's eyes seemed to be studying me just as much as I was studying him. "Ah yes, let me introduce to you Maegor Targaryen, son of Prince Aerion Targaryen and Princess Daenora Targaryen."

Both of their jaws dropped as they looked from me to Maegor. My distant cousin smirked at the expression of the two as he bowed with a flourish. "Prince Maegor Targaryen at your service. Although I discarded my name in favour of that of Rogarre."

I took in that news, for it was certainly news to me. Why would he discard his name? The Targaryen name held some sway across the narrow sea more so than the Rogarre name nowadays. "Would you like to take a seat cousin? Drink?"

"I'll take the seat." He told me as he took the seat. "But no thank you for the drink. I don't need wine to dull my mind. I'd like to keep my wits about me in this place."

I nodded as I retook my own seat. During that time, Harry and Ryam seemed to have got their wits back and had stopped gaping. Ryam seemed to be indecisive as he looked between me and Maegor. "I-I don't understand. How are the two of you cousins, if you don't mind me asking, your grace?"

"Obviously because we share blood. Have you no wits in that brain of yours?" Maegor asked a bit too harshly before shaking his head. Ryam's face tightened somewhat, but Maegor continued speaking. "If you must know, my princely father happened to be his grandfather's brother."

"The Brightflame." Harry mouthed out, after a moment. "You are the son of Aerion Brightflame."

Ryam looked at Harry, eyebrows raised. "That madman?"

"Yes." Maegor said with a lazy drawl. "The fool that thought he would be transformed into a dragon by drinking wildfire."

I had an inkling that Maegor didn't hold that much love for his father. I looked towards Ryam and Harry. "Thank you for this. You can leave us now, I may have more tasks for you in the future."

My former squires nodded before they left me and my cousin alone. The two of us looked at each other, a silence that was neither uncomfortable or comfortable all around us.

Eventually, I decided to break it. "So Lys..." I began slowly, breaking the ice so to speak. "How was that like?"

"Clean. Lovely." His too perfect of a nose scrunched up somewhat as he sniffed. "And certainly smelled better."

I took offence at the last one. The smell wasn't even as bad was he was trying to make it out to be. It was barely even noticeable in most places of the city.

"Well, Lys is called the Perfumed Sister, so logic would dictate it smelled so." Now that I thought about it, Maegor smelled of lilacs. "Married into the Rogares? An old, distinguished and respected family."

My perfumed cousin shrugged at that. "True, but wealth matters more than most in the Free Cities. The Rogares are everything as you said, but certainly not wealthy. That is what matters there."

House Rogare had declined in stature and power after the death of Lysandro Rogare and his brother, Drazenko, consort to the Princess of Dorne. During their time, the family were amongst one of the most powerful families in the world. Hell, their bank was even more powerful than the Iron Bank and that was no easy feat to come by.

I motioned towards his clothing. "It must not be all that bad. You are dressed finely enough."

My cousin gave me a wry smile then. "Mostly my royal mother's doing. And the rest from Bloodraven...convincing her that it was more than likely best for me to be raised away from Seven Kingdoms."

Okay, perhaps I was beginning to understand a little as to why he didn't like the family name all that much. Bloodraven probably had the best intentions in mind, but I wasn't convinced that his 'convincing' did not involve subtle allusions to either Princess Daenora's very own death or that of her babe.

I winced. "I want to say I'm surprised, but Brynden Rivers, as great a servant to the Iron Throne he was, was a bit of a bastard."

He snorted in amusement at that moment. "What do you want of me?" He asked plainly. "I tire of this. I'm sure your interest in me never rested in anything more than wanting to know your distant relative or be the architect of some great family reunion."

"Who is to say that was not my intention from the beginning? Family is important."

He gave an amused snort at that. "Please, we both know better."

I couldn't help but nod. I sadly, knew better and a house divided was something I was actively trying to work against. I wanted House Targaryen to be as thick as leaves and if not, when shit hit the fan, even if some didn't like each, they would rally to one another and help each other out.

I was optimistic, something that was entirely stupid in Westeros, but I rather liked to think I was on the verge of something.

"I want to build a bank. A royal bank." I told him plainly and as simply as he had asked.

A perfectly looked after eyebrow of silver-gold raised up Maegor's brow. "...A bank?"

"Yes." I said with a nod. "A bank."

Maegor rested his elbow on the arm rest of his chair and propped up his face on his fist. "Banks are not easy things to simply build. They take time...and gold."

"I have gold. More than I actually know what to do with, and even more in the future. I also know that banks take time to build, unfortunately, I'm rather positive that no-one in Westeros knows how to bloody build one."

The more important thing was that I didn't know how to build one. Hell, as silly as it was, I didn't even know how I planned to use it other than the official means for people to store their money or borrow money from.

From that alone, I already knew that my sixth form Business Studies teacher would be all up on me simply because I wasn't identifying a need that I could exploit for profit or for potential customers. I needed to read up on the subject some more.

Truth be told, I planned for the bank to develop a vibrant economy whilst at the same time, as political capital to any House that wanted to borrow money from it. If they couldn't pay back their loan, well, I do believe that land is one of the securities that banks prefer to have. Something about it never losing it's value and instead, actually rising.

Not exactly what a bank is supposed to be used for, but well, sometimes, I needed to play dirty.

Of course, when land is taken in lieu of payment of a loan, the bank would own the land instead of the crown. But I had in mind that the crown had right to first bid on any land taken and I would probably play with a couple of strings to make sure the crown got the land.

I wasn't going to be greedy about it. Some of the scraps would be thrown to other Houses that made bids for the land, at the very least, to give the impression of being fair. I just had to be very careful about it.

Perhaps I can look into setting up a few shell companies...or lords. Lords would be preferable. Less questions asked.

My cousin almost looked amused and said derisively. "Yes, the high born tend to look down on such matters. Ridiculous really, they borrow enough coin from each other and the banks across the narrow sea." Lilac eyes looked at me. "Is that why you asked for me, to build you a bank?"

"Yes." I said with a nod. I smiled at him then. "Come now cousin, I know of your history. Did you think I didn't know you had married into House Rogare? A noted banking family? And your experience in such a sector? If I wasn't so amused by the notion, I would think myself insulted."

"Although the notion of having been spied upon irks me, I had suspected as much." He sighed before glancing towards the door. "Although your two pets didn't seem to be aware of who I was."

"They didn't know. I wanted to see their expressions."

He raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Why?"

"Because I thought it would be funny." I smirked. "Heh. It was funny."

Maegor gave me a dull look then. "You are a strange man, cousin, or should it be your grace?"

"Cousin, if you so wish, in private of course. In public? Well, we must pander to the public and their notions. Us Westerosi do care about how others perceive us."

"How vain of you." He drummed his fingers on the arm rest of his chair. "In truth, I would like to have nothing to do with the Seven Kingdoms. This place is foreign to me and from what tales my mother told me when I was young, full of liars and cheats."

"And Lys isn't full of liars and cheats?" I asked, deadpan.

"At least we are honest about it." He defended himself and his fellow Lyseni citizens. I supposed he was more Lyseni than Westerosi at this point. "We don't try to hide behind pretensions of honour and their likes. I sometimes think 'honour' is merely a word you lot throw around without knowing it's meaning."

Well, I couldn't really deny that.

Maegor continued to speak. "But...when my wife hears of this, she would be most likely furious with me at rejecting such an opportunity."

"Your wife?" I asked, amused.

He noticed my expression and shrugged. "She and the rest of her family, dream of times long past. When the name Rogare was something to be feared. To be looked upon with awe."

I saw a chance to pounce. "And this is a great opportunity as any. If you don't want to do it, at least do it for your wife. Your family." Of course, the one that he had chosen instead of the one that he had been born into.

Purple eyes of a different shade of mine locked onto my own eyes. "You aren't very much of a subtle person, are you?"

"I'm about as subtle as an aurochs." I told him with a shrug of the shoulders. "Sometimes, it depends on the day. Or the hour. It's not a very constant thing. I like it like that. Keeps people on their toes."

"You are supposed to not keep people on their toes." Maegor told me with a shake of the head in amusement. "May I have time to think this over? This is much a life changing decision that I have to make."

"Take all the time in the world, cousin." I said, smiling. "Of course, I don't mean that literally. We'll more than likely be dead by the time of the heat death of the universe." Actually, did that even matter in this universe? Clearly the laws of physics in this place didn't work properly so the same could be applied for that as well.

Maegor looked at me strangely then. "Heat...death? Pardon?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. Just the rambling of a man that has been worked too much."

When Maegor left, I think I had made a good enough impression on him. I was hopeful of him accepting my offer but it never hurt for Maegor to be encouraged from someone else other than me. Someone close to his heart.

With that in mind, I slipped out some parchment and began penning a letter to my cousin's apparently ambitious lady wife.

Dear Elaena Rogare...

Was trying to get to a man through his wife a bit of a bastardy thing to do? Yes, it very well was. I was a bit of a bastard though, so it was just fine.

And in truth, it was all about me trying to help my cousin's family. Family is important after all. But mostly the reasoning was because I was a bit of a bastard.

Before I could finish my first sentence, the doors that led into my office burst open. I didn't need to know who it was that had the gall and tenacity to just run into my office like that without knocking.

I sighed as I pushed my chair back as little feet pitter-patted of the floor, running around the table before jumping, with some struggle, onto my lap. I looked down at the mop of dark brown hair that looked almost black, queer little deep violet eyes that looked blue in a certain light looking up at me.

"What did I say about rushing into my office?" I asked sternly.

Theon just gave me a wide grin. "Not to do it!" He answered happily enough. It seemed I hadn't been as stern as I thought I had been.

Others soon joined me and my youngest in my office as Dany and Luc walked inside. I suspected my children's Kingsguard had wisely stayed outside the confines of my office. "We tried to stop him." Luc lazily drawled, looking around.

Dany eagerely nodded her head in agreement with her brother. "We really did. But Theon's fast."

"He's three." I told the two of them.

"He's a very fast three year old." Dany corrected. "Fastest in the world."

I rolled my eyes as I bounced the young boy on my lap, much to his amusement. "You need to look after your baby brother better. I'm a busy man."

Luc glanced at me and sniffed. "You don't look busy." He tried to reach for the letter in front of me.

I lightly swatted away his hand. "No. That's not for you."

"Why not?" He asked, curious. "I'm going to be king anyway. Might as well see all the letters. I'm sure most of it must be riveting stuff."

From his tone alone, I could tell that he was absolutely ecstatic about that. "I thought you wanted to be a Kingsguard?" I asked, curious.

Before Luc could answer me, Dany did it for him. "He wants to be an adventurer now. Wants to sail to the other side of the world. Like the Seasnake."

My heir nodded at his sister's words. "Uncle Benny says he's going to sail the world in the future. I want to go with him."

Luc let out a small cry when Dany pinched his arm. "You are heir to the Iron Throne. You just can't go gallivanting around the world." Although only six, my daughter's grasp of the Common Tongue and the big words was quite surprising and a half.

Luc gave his sister a look before pointing in the direction of Theon, who waved at his older siblings. "Theon."

"Theon!" My youngest parroted, enjoying himself on my lap. "I'm Theon!"

"Yes you are. Although the fact that you have to tell yourself that is a worrying sign. Mayhap he is a dullard?"

I frowned at that but before I could chastise her, Luc jumped to his brother's defence. This time, pinching her. "Don't say that. Theon is fine as he is. And he's three. What do you expect from him?"

Dany glared at Luc as she rubbed her own arm before looking towards Theon, her eyes softening. "Sorry Theon. I shouldn't have said that." Her brother looked on confused as she walked up to him to pinch his cheek. "You know I mean nothing by it. You are my favourite brother."

Theon giggled as he forced her hand away. "Stop that!"

"Favourite brother?" Luc repeated as I watched on with an amused smile on my face. "Well, at least I'm father's favourite."

Oh no, I wasn't about to be dragged into this. I decided to chastise my daughter on her previous words. "You might not have meant those words you said, Dany, but you shouldn't go around throwing a word like that around. It's a bad word."

Dany looked away from me, a foot of hers idly digging into the floor. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's fine." I said with a nod after looking her over for a fair moment or two. "As long as you know not to do it again." I picked up Theon in my arms, much to his delight. "Now how about I come and play with you for a while? I have the time."

Luc jumped off his seat happily enough. "Can we play footie? I like footie."

"We can play whatever games you want." I told to every one of them.

I did have the time after all. 

**xXx**


	38. Chapter 38

**xXx**

 **King's Landing**

Pyp's body ached like nobodies business. His joints creaked and groaned with each movement he made. His bones felt like jelly, like one wrong step and he would drop to the ground and flop aimlessly like a fish out of water.

Thankfully, by now, he had come to appreciate the aches. It signified that he had just finished another day of hard, honest work. The aromas of the canteen made his stomach growl with excitement. Although the food that was served in the tenement was simple bread, soup and fish, the smell was more than enough to bring him to nearly salivating at the prospect of having something to chow down on.

The line moved quickly as men were given their food by the wenches that worked as cooks. The men made japes and cat called at some of the prettier ones, but to Pyp most of them were rather plain or homely. He had seen prettier wenches working the fields back in his village.

When he reached the food serving counter, the woman on the other side splashed some steaming soup into his bowl, then the next one some mushy green peas and carrots. At the end, he grabbed a piece of bread that was warm to the touch out of the bread basket.

Freshly baked and not that long ago as well, judging by the heat of it.

"Haven't seen you around before." Someone said to him as he took a seat at a nearby table.

Pyp looked up, breaking a piece of bread. "I've been round 'ere for a while." He told the man, his voice just loud enough to be heard above the din and sounds of the cafeteria.

Pyp had been in the capital for a couple of moons to be honest, but he wouldn't be surprised that no-one knew of him. He most kept to himself and his bunk.

He had yet to make any friends.

The man was older than him. Probably the same age as his own father. His face was lined with age, plain brown eyes located in the sockets that were his eyes and his nose was strangely crooked. He gave Pyp a wide toothy smile and Pyp saw that the man was missing some teeth.

"Name's Huwie. I've been round here for a while as well." Huwie stuck a hand out to shake.

Pyp noticed and felt the calluses on the man's hand as he shook his hand. "Pyp." He replied simply enough.

"So where you from?"

Pyp had been wrong. The bread hadn't been out for a while, it was scalding hot. He had burned his finger and would have cried out, but he didn't want to attract attention. "A small village just a few leagues from the capital." He told him, trying his best to quench the stinging pain on his finger.

"Another village boy, eh?" Huwie said with a shake of the head. "Lemme guess, you are a second son or something of the likes."

The smile that came to his lips was sheepish in nature. "Fifth actually."

The older man laughed. "Fifth? We don't get many fifth sons. There's not that many fifth sons. Mostly third or fourth sons. Extra mouths to feed that farming families can't afford to feed anymore."

Pyp tried his best to hide his frown. What the man was saying was hitting very close as to why he had come to the capital in the first place. It was beginning to get expensive for his family to feed him and his siblings along with everyone else.

There was little work to go around as well, with these new fangled contraptions that were coming out of the work shops of Aegondale that reduced the amount of people needed to work and till the fields. It had eventually come to the point that he and two of his brothers had come to the city to look for other work.

Work that was inconsistent to come by, but when it came, paid well enough to last him until he found his next job. Just as his recent job of helping with the reconstruction efforts of the docks and buildings that were damaged during the looting of the night.

"Aye." He said with a nod as he dipped a piece of bread into the soup and popped it into his mouth. "That be the truth of it."

"Only one to come to King's Landing?"

Pyp shook his head. "No. Me and two of my brothers came to the city."

The man nodded in understanding. "And what do they do? They here as well?"

"They joined the Crown Army." Gyles and Frank were big, strong boys. Bigger than him. Stronger than him. Better fighters than him. Didn't mean that he wouldn't worry after them. They were his brothers.

They had liked him, stayed in a boarding house, picking up the odd jobs from the work house. Working at the docks as a teamster or even down the river at the massive work shops of Aegondale. Having been taught how to read by their village septon and septa, they had seen the large posters hanged around the notice board that called for men.

The poster had been larger than any piece of paper he had seen before on it was the imprint of Aerys head seemingly staring and pointing at him from the poster with the words, 'LOYAL SUBJECT'S, THE KING WANTS YOU! JOIN THE CROWN ARMY! GODS SAVE THE KING!'

His brothers had immediately lapped it up and soon had looked into the means of joining the king's army. His brothers may have found the poster inspiring, he had found it unnerving, especially with the way that it seemed the king's eyes will follow you, no matter where you walked.

That was simply unnatural. It was a gods forsaken piece of paper. How could it have so much power over him?

Huwie nodded his head in understanding. "A good choice as any when it comes to work. I've known a few of the younger lads that lived in these boarding houses to have gone and joined the king's army. Regular coin, boarding and food. Not a bad deal in truth, especially in service to our great king."

A king as great as Aerys. The septon and septa back home had said the same as well. They had said that they were learning how to read and write thanks to the blessed machinations of Aerys. Of how they were being taught the holy word thanks to his magnanimity.

Pyp often found it strange. The Faith heaped praise upon praise on Aerys, yet one of the most stringest sins of the Seven Pointed Star was that of incest. Aerys was the product of incest. An abomination in the eyes of the Seven and their followers.

Yet at the same time, they worshiped him. He had even heard many say that he was blessed by the Smith himself.

He was smart enough to keep these thoughts to himself.

Huwie laughed as he continued talking. "I would have signed up as well, but I'm a little too old for such things."

Pyp could tell. "Did you come from a village as well?"

"No. I was born in King's Landing. Lived 'ere my whole life." His smile turned sad. "Born and raised in Flea Bottom. Destroyed and turned into nothing more than ash in the Great Fire thanks to those fucking cunts, the Blackfyres." He had said the name with so much venom that it had caught Pyp off-guard for a few moments. Huwie shook his head. "Was lucky to get out alive. Can't say the same about many others."

He nodded. "I'm sorry to hear about that."

"All in the past. Time heals all wounds as the saying goes." He leaned forward onto the table. "Listen boy, if you ever need some extra coin or if you want to earn some at the side when work isn't turning up, just come to me."

Pyp couldn't help but be a little suspicious. His brothers had told him about this. About folk that would be nice and all to him, but try and entice him into a world that he would want nothing to do with.

Huwie continued speaking, oblivious to the internal turmoil that was waging within Pyp's head. "You are a big boy, and all that time working on the farm has given you some size and strength. I can see that easily enough, saw it down at the docks as well when you carried all that timber easier than most would have been able to." Pyp slowly nodded as he slowly scooped up some peas and carrots into the wooden spoon and into his mouth. "I know some people that do a little wrestling on the side. Nothing too much, but enough to make good coin."

Pyp blinked. A wrestling ring? That wasn't so bad. He had wrestled all the time with his brothers back when he was young. Sure he lost most of the time, but he won some of the other time.

"Wrestling?" He repeated.

Huwie gave him that wide tooth smile that showed the gaps again. "Wrestling." He confirmed with a nod of the head. "There's good coin in it. Just find me if you are interested." Like that, he picked up his bowl and began to leave.

Pyp watched him go before turning back to his food. Wrestling didn't sound all that bad. He could earn some extra coin that could be added to the coin that he was already saving. Perhaps he would be able to do well enough in the ring and be able to go back home.

It was certainly worth the thought. 

**xXx**

Okay then, so waterboarding was now a thing.

When I had turned up in Westeros, I had thought I was you know, going to make things better. You know, tweeking a little things there, a little things here and somethings over there. All for the greater good and keeping the white walkers as far away from me as possible.

I did not think introducing waterboarding was one of those things I was going to introduce that was going to make the world all for the better.

The man was gasping for air, trying to spit out water that trickled into his lungs. "Gods, mercy, please stop."

To be honest, a part of me thought that he was having it easy. It could be worse, I wanted to say, because by now, the man would be nothing more than a bloody wreck of a man from all the lashings and other things that would have been subjected to him and his fellows.

Hell, when I had first come to see the progress of the...questioning, I had found the gaolers and torturers just about ready to bugger them for kicks. Apparently, rape was okay as torture. Well, I didn't condone any form of rape, so a new policy had to be thought up when it came to interrogation.

Apparently, that new policy included coming with completely knew torture means brought up by moi. That was something that I wasn't particularly happy about it, let alone pleased with.

"Who sent you?" I asked, standing over the man.

"I don't know." The man coughed out. There was an accent to the man's voice, somewhere from down south. Perhaps the stormlands? Well, at least that gave me somewhere to start looking for clues. "I was just hired by a man. He didn't give me a name, I didn't ask. Just the initial coin for the job."

I sighed and took a step back. "Again."

"Nogodspleasenomore-!" He was cut off as a rag was placed over his mouth and the gaoler started pouring water over the rag. The man struggled, his limbs strapped down on the table as he fought against every man's instinct and primal fear of drowning when he wasn't actually drowning.

I made a motion with my hand after counting to twenty inside my head. The gaoler stopped and removed the rag, allowing the man to take deep hacking breaths and cough and splatter non-existent water once more.

The question came easy from my mouth. I had asked it enough times as it was. "Who hired you?"

"I don't know!" The saboteur was close to crying, his eyes glistening and watering...or perhaps that was simply the spray from the water. He sobbed. "I don't know..."

From somewhere down the halls of the black cells, a scream rang out. It sounded like a strangled kitten, even though I didn't know what sounds strangled kittens made. Another victim of some rather innovative new methods of torture that had been brought about by my introduction of technology.

Figures.

Always count on humanity coming up with the worst ways to use something clearly meant for the betterment of everyone.

This place was beginning to darken my mood. "Keep questioning him and his fellows. I don't want them dead though. They'll break eventually." I told the gaoler in charge of this particular session of interrogation.

The freakishly pale man nodded his head. "Yes, y'grace."

I left not long after that.

Some people debated on the usefulness of torture. In one hand, some would argue that it's a slightly effective means of gaining information, another argued that it was inhumane and the information gained would be sketchy at best.

Who's to say the prisoner would say anything to make the torture stop?

When the men broke and when something resembling an answer was given to us, I was going to have to wrestle with that knowledge in mind to determine whether the information I learned is whether true or the act of some desperate man to stop the hurt.

The saboteurs themselves were a strange group of people. The gold cloaks had captured several dozen of them, some in better conditions than others due to the fighting involved. We had been able to recognise men from all across the Seven Kingdoms from the accents to men from across the narrow sea.

In other words, sellswords that had taken the task on promise of gold.

Considering the danger involved with the task that they had been set, I figured who ever hired them were bloody rich and had coin to spare...which didn't do much in narrowing down the suspect list. Which in truth was thin list as well.

Alequo Adarys happened to be the only name on the list to begin with.

I really did not feel like fighting a war with Tyrosh or any Free City in truth.

Well, not a conventional war anyway. A trade war though...that might be something I could look into. Hell, some people might argue that we were already having a trade war as it was. 

**xXx**

It hadn't been that long since I last saw Tywin, but I think his hair was thinning at the front. Or perhaps it was just the light at play. If he showed any form of discomfort at this fact, he didn't show it.

"Your Grace." Tywin greeted with an incline of the head.

"It's Aerys to you, Tywin. None of that 'Your Grace' nonsense." I told him. Really, he would think by now to know that I didn't particularly care for all that bollocks unless it's in public were customs have to be observed. "I heard about your father. If it's an consolation, I'm sorry."

Tytos Lannister had just died a month prior and it just so happened to be a week after I had sent a raven to Casterly Rock to ask for Tywin's presence at court. Figured I might as well use him for something.

The now ascended Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock's mouth tightened into a thin line somewhat. "Thank you. My lord father was a good man." Their was a bit of a strange inflection to his voice.

Apparently, Tywin didn't know whether to dislike his father for his weakness or love him as a son should.

"You didn't have to come." I said to him. "You could have just sent a raven telling of your current situation. I would have understood." I rather felt bad for making him come to the capital so soon instead of mourning after his father, someone he clearly loved, even if he didn't respect the man.

"The world turns and men move with it. It doesn't stop for any one man."

I nodded. "Much to the chagrin of many, I suspect. I figure you already have an inkling of why I asked for you."

"A small council position, I suspect." Tywin said, green eyes flecked with gold boring into me. Some would find that intimidating, but Aerys had been on the receiving end of that particular stare for so long that it had stopped bothering him.

"I've been rebuilding the small council for a while now. By the time I'm done with it, I doubt many would be able to say that it resembles the old councils of old."

"What will you be having me do?" He didn't really care much for the sally, did he?

Straight to the point, I smiled at that. "I need a Minister of the Treasury. In other words, you will be in charge of financial and monetary matters of the realm. I figured who better to manage the treasury of the realm none other than a Lord of Casterly Rock who also happens to be a good friend of mine?"

Question was, would Tywin take this as an insult or not? He was prideful and some would take the position of the Minister of the Treasury as a different but still nearly the same continuation of the master of coin. A position that was considered rather the lowest of the small council positions, which didn't make much sense considering the amount of power that such a position could hold.

I suppose Littlefinger was the only one who was well aware of the potential in the office. Speaking of Littlefinger, I needed to look out for him. Don't actually know when he turns up, but I at the very least know that he's going to be a ward of Hoster Tully...if the butterflies don't set off any sort of tsunami or the likes.

Tywin didn't give me much of an indication onto his personal thoughts or reaction to my offer as he gave me a reply. "I'll accept the duty, your grace."

"Good man!" I exclaimed happily enough with a smile on my face. I pushed over a booklet to his side of the table. "That over there is to help you settle in. There's all the functions, the people that you need to know who will be working underneath you as well as further explanation of your office's duties."

Tywin picked up the booklet and began to skim through it, his eyes flickering from one side of the page to the other. "In your reformation of the small council, how many seats will there be?" He asked.

"Quite a few." I answered as I stroked my jaw. "I still have quite the number of places to fill out with capable men and women."

Tywin's eyes flicked up then in interest. "Women?"

"Women." I repeated firmly. "Some might question me on that decision, but Dorne seems to function well enough when it is ruled by a Princess." I looked at him curiously. "And don't tell me you don't take sage counsel from Joanna." He made a sound then and I smirked. "Women are just as capable as men if given the opportunity."

"Aerys..." Tywin began slowly.

I waved him off. "No. I don't plan on naming Dany my heir. There's firm precedent when it comes to the succession of the Iron Throne. I doubt it will change any time soon and I'm already rocking the boat as it is with many of my policies. I rather not rock it anymore than it is already."

Policies that I had inherited from Egg's reign. It was rather silly the amount of petitions that I had to sit through from various lords asking me to renounce many of his reforms. Apparently, asking the high lords to treat the smallfolk like people was a little bit above them and threatened their rights for nothing more than a quirk of birth.

He nodded then, accepting my answer, turning his attention back to the booklet I had given him. "If I may ask, have you approached Steffon for a position on the small council?"

"He's not interested." I answered with a snort. "He told me to ask for him whenever I have something more to his skills and abilities. Probably something to do with crushing heads, I suspect."

At times, Tywin did this thing with his lips that seemed like he was just threatening to actually smile. Just like he was doing as of now. "That does sound like him." He rose up from his seat. "May I take your leave, your grace?"

I held back a roll of the eyes at how he addressed me, but I rose up from my own seat nonetheless. "Of course. There's a steward outside that would be more than willing to show you to your offices." 

**xXx**

Honestly, Luc preferred attending his kingly father's school rather than sitting through hours and hours on end of boring private lectures with Maester Gyldayn and a bunch of other maesters he really couldn't be bothered learning the names of. They made everything so boring, the only thing that kept him from sleeping through everything was because he knew he suffered together with Dany and Daeron.

She hated the lectures just about as much as she did and Daeron was boring since he always asked questions and answered them first when Maester Gyldayn asked them.

Which is why the both of them had been so happy and elated when they found out that for two days of the week, they would attend the school that father had built that had other children. The size of the school was bewildering. Not as big as the Red Keep of course, but still big.

The school also happened to be loads and loads of fun. There were so many children to play with. They had met so many new people and played so many games.

Although it was difficult to make friends though. Everyone knew them as Princess Daenerys and Prince Lucerys Targaryen, the children of King Aerys Targaryen. They also knew Daeron. Sort of obvious really, his father was a prince and the Hand of the King.

In other words, it was really difficult for them to make any sort of friends. They either flattered them soooo much that it was easy to tell that they really weren't worth their time. The others never at all approached them in fear of something.

Then there was also the fact that they never really played any of the more physical games with them. They worried too much about hurting them and being punished by the king.

Which was silly. Father was a complete and utter softy. He wouldn't hurt a child.

Which also meant when the other children during Sports, wrestled or played ball sports, him and Daeron would always sit at the side and watch the other children play. Like now. They were seated at the side as the rest of their class played rugby.

Daeron winched when he saw one tackle that knocked one of the children into the ground. "That must have hurt."

"I could do that so much better." Luc said, knees brought up to his chest and resting his chin on them. "This is boring. You would think they wouldn't worry about hurting us with father's declaration."

Daeron fidgeted on his seat for a moment before deciding to lie down. "Declaration or not, people would still be wary of gaining the wrath of the king."

"Wrath? Father?" He snorted in amusement. "I've never seen Father even so much as angry. He's always nice and considerate. He wouldn't be angry at them for doing something." He then eyed the two Kingsguard that stood at the side. He knew there were more Kingsguard around, patrolling the area in search of threats to his and Daeron's lives. "I blame them. If they weren't ther, I'm sure we would be playing with the others as well."

"Yeah, sure." Daeron muttered. He craned his head somewhat and an eyebrow rose up his head. "Huh, I don't think I know them."

Luc turned his head in the direction that Daeron was facing and noticed that three children were coming their way. The most noticeable one strode in the centre, taller than the others, he had fair skin and pale blond hair. To his left was a sourly looking dark-haired boy, his hands stuffed into his pockets whilst another was a fierce red haired, eyeing their surroundings eerie.

"I don't know them either." Yet they were clearly coming towards the two of them. They eventually stood in front of them and Luc got up to his feet and greeted them. "Hello."

The tall one pale blond one was the first to greet him back. "Hello, Prince Lucerys." There was a certain drawl to his voice, an accent that he couldn't quite place.

Luc didn't like being referred to as 'Prince Lucerys' it was just Luc or not bother his name at all. What also bothered him was that this boy seemed to be taller than him, even though they seemed to be the same age.

He crossed his arms. "You can call me Luc."

That took the blond boy back a bit. "B-But you are a prince. Of the blood royal. It's not proper."

Luc raised an eyebrow. "Well, do I have to command you to address me as such? I would rather not, so just call me Luc." And why was the red haired one looking at him like that?

The dark haired sourly looking one's lips formed a thin, wry smile in amusement. "That's good then. Lucerys is a mouthful. I suppose I should introduce myself then, I'm Oswell Whent, at your service."

Whent? He had been taught about the Houses of the Riverlands and House Whe-.

"Of Harrenhal?" Daeron asked, having rose to his feet some time ago by the looks of it.

His cousin earned his ire for stealing his thunder.

"The one and only." Oswell said with a flourish of the hand. "Bit of a dreary place, if you ask me."

"I would think so. Harren and his sons died in that castle rather brutally, I might say." Daeron made a show of shivering in fright. "And the stories. Oh the stories."

Oswell Whent smirked somewhat. "It's not so bad. Sometimes, you can hear the children screaming as the bats of Mad Danelle carry them away. It's calming in it's own way."

The red haired finally took his eyes of wonder away from Luc to glance at Oswell with a strange look. "Why are you so strange?" His only answer was a shrug of the shoulders. The boy introduced himself next. "Jon Connington, your-Luc." He corrected himself, yet it was obvious to the young prince that he was having some trouble saying it.

It will grow on them, he told himself.

"Of Griffin's Roost." The prince said quickly to stop his cousin from outshining him, again. This came easy to him than the other one. "You're far from home, aren't you?" Was father's school taking in children from further across the realm?

And the Conningtons were a lordly house of significant stature. Most of the lordlings he had come to know were from knightly houses and minor nobility that he would admit he had never heard of before until he met them.

"Aye, that I am." Jon Connington admitted. He indicated towards the tall boy of the trio. "But not as far as him."

"A Dayne, huh." Daeron beat him to the conclusion again. "You really are far from home."

Taking a second look at the pale blond haired youth, the prince could see that his eyes were of a deep blue that could be mistaken for purple. The Daynes were the only house that could have such features, even if their ancestry is questioned on whether they are from Valyria or not.

The Dayne scion nodded his head. "Arthur Dayne, your grace-." A sharp look from Luc made him falter in his sentence. "...Luc."

Luc beamed him a smile. "See, was that so hard?" The Dayne didn't reply but Luc took this a sign to mean that he had to beat some sense into him. Into all of them. "So what would you three want with us?" He doubted they had just approached him and Daeron, at the same time, just out of curiosity.

"Truth be told, from this day forth, we are going to be attending the court as cup-bearers to the king and his Hand." Arthur Dayne answered.

The prince and his cousin shared a look between each other. "You do know that our father's are at the Red Keep right? Not here." Daeron pointed out.

"We know." Jon Connington said with a nod. "We were told that for the day, we were to introduce ourselves to the two of you. To get to know each other."

Luc groaned, causing the others to look at him. "My father is behind this. I don't know how, I just know it."

This was embarrassing. Apparently, his father thought he was so pathetic in making friends and companions that he needed to step in himself.

This sounded especially like something he would do.

Why he chose these particular three boys to befriend him, was beyond the reasoning of the young prince. Didn't his father know that friends couldn't be forced into being made?

Sometimes, it was like dealing with a child when it came to his father. 

**xXx**


	39. Chapter 39

**xXx**

 **12th Month 267AC**

It was a fine summer's day, only marred by the slight shower of rain falling from the cloudless sky. A shower so light, that it could barely be felt when it kissed the skin.

The hooves of the horses made a rhythmic beating as we made our way down the kingsroad. The road was wide enough to allow four wayns to ride abreast, stone paved and metaled, whilst cambered for drainage when it rained. I had planned for footpaths, but that would have taken longer than it had already taken to built them to the standard that they were already.

I had severely underestimated how big the crownlands where, but in my defence, scale had never been one of my things. Looking at the crownlands on a map, they didn't seem all that big. It wasn't until I got to the road building that I realised how ridiculously big they were.

Roads were good. They provided with a rather efficient means of travel for trade goods, communications and if I had anything to do with it, armies. Of course, I had only focused on giving the crownlands the sort of road system that I wanted.

I would be proud to boast that only the crownlands had this sort of paved roads and I liked to think they were already beginning to pay themselves back. We had passed far more travellers on the roads than I could remember when the road was nothing more than a very well trodden dirt path of some size.

I planned on improving the kingsroad and all the other major roads of Westeros to this standard, but that was it. Like I said, I had severely underestimated how big the crownlands were. I didn't like to think of how big the other kingdoms of Westeros are and how much that would cost. Perhaps at a later date.

Thankfully, improving on the roads of the Seven Kingdoms didn't mean I would be the one to make sure that they were looked after. That fell to my vassals as part of their feudal obligations to me. Fun.

We had travelled down the road from the River Gate for some hours now and our destination was near enough in site. The black smoke in the distance rising slowly into the sky that I had spotted some time back was closer and darker now and further along the road, it branched off to turn into a field.

This particular road was half a well worn out dirt track that had been ground out by the constant beating of boots, wheels and hooves upon it, whilst another half, closer to the road was much like the rest, paved stone and metaled.

I was going to have to sent the road crews to bring this part of the road up to scruff like the rest of the roads. Which was easy enough. I had more than plenty enough road crews to work on any road that I needed, nearly half of them not even having to being paid for their work.

Community service was this great invention that I had introduced Westeros to. The free labour was just the cherry on top of an excellent cake.

"Your grace," Ser Gerold called out from beside me. "We are here."

I forced myself back to reality from the depths of my mind and noticed indeed that we had very much appeared at the object of our destination. The fort was new and was still in construction in some parts, half-naked men busy working at wood, hacking and sawing away. The palisades made for an adequate enough defence, but eventually, that would be changed to stone at a later date.

Although it wasn't exactly what I had in mind, this particular military base was quickly on it's way to coming into existence.

A guard on one of several watch towers blew a horn to tell of our approach.

The great wooden doors slowly swung upon, dragging earth and mud to allow us entrance into the fort. Inside the base, there was a single main road that led to the centre of the base, beside on either side were orderly rolled tents of a white colour and newly thrown up buildings of wooden huts and halls. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of men ran to and for.

In front of me at an intersection, I saw an older serjeant lead a group of young men on a jog through the camp, before randomly darting off into a sprint at some signal. In another open clearing, I saw another serjeant prow the field bellowing out commands to recruits that were busy being made to do push-ups.

Down the main road we went, passing target ranges that were filled with archers knocking back arrows and loosing them at a distance, lowly-born knights, but knights nonetheless, leading the training of arms to groups of men. At another intersection, we had to stop to allow a group of horsemen to ride past us towards another one of the gates at the other side of the fort.

They had gone by so quickly I didn't get a chance to count their numbers. I hoped that Rodrik had been able to keep to my original plan of how exactly each and every military unit was to be formed and how many men it had in it.

Little things like this did wonders for the logistical nightmare that were responsible for keeping the men fed and paid and supplied.

At the centre of the base, I dismounted from my horse and unsurprisingly, Rodrik was already out to greet me. Dressed in uniform black with red trimmings and a similarly coloured tricorne on his head.

He made his dislike for his hat as soon as possible when he took it off. "I don't care much for this."

I smiled at my good father. "I think it looks dashing on you. Brings out your eyes."

Rodrik ignored that as his eyes peered past me to look at the troop of men that had served as my escort on this journey. "And you didn't bring an old man's joy?"

"Dany and Luc have their lessons. They can't come see you everyday, good-father. You can always come to the capital to visit them. It's not that far a ride."

"Not until these lot are sorted." He snorted, indicating at the base full of men being trained to kill and fight. He turned and began to lead me into the main building. "And I wouldn't dare let my little grand-pups be exposed to the stink of this place."

I took a whiff of the air. "I don't smell much of a stink."

"You were born and raised in King's Landing, your grace. I'd think that by now, your nose doesn't work as good as you think it does." He paused for a moment. "That, or everything to you can never be compared to the great stink that is King's Landing."

"Not so much anymore." I was rather proud of how little King's Landing smelled now.

"It still smells. Just not as much as before."

"Your praise means much to me, good-father."

Inside the building, there were clerks that walked to and fro, carrying to one task or another. The clerks served as something as close to a General Staff as I could remember. Of course, the clerks were more along the administrative staff, whilst the true General Staff was probably out and about doing stuff that was related to their particular path of service that Rodrik had assigned to them.

"Nicely built base, good-father."

Rodrik gave a grunt. "Serving with the Second Sons made me learn the value of a good camp or base. Latrines are down the river, and only drinking water can be taken from up the river, and boiled. The last thing I want is the bloody mare running through the camp and decimating the army before it has even fought a battle."

Speaking of men. "How many have you got?"

"Last time I checked? A little over two thousand. This Royal Army of yours is growing quick. Mostly green boys, but by the time I'm done with them, they will be better than any levy any one of the other lords would be able to rabble up together."

Two thousand? Considering that I was following the regiment system, that meant that I had enough for one regiment, four battalions, ten companies and forty platoons. Nice to know that my maths was still very much on point for such basic divisions.

My good-father and the guy that I had put in charge of this entire army continued speaking. "Mind you though, two thousand isn't much of an army. Good enough numbers for a lord of some import, but not enough for a king."

"I plan to see to that." I told him, as we continued through the hall ways of the building. "I'm of the same mind that two thousand is a paltry number. What would you say is a reasonable number?"

"Preferably more than what your lords can call to arms."

"So you want me to have an army that is of a match for the Tyrells?" A hundred thousand was quite the number. Something I doubt I would have be able to sustain on a Medieval economy.

"No. Not that much. Preferably half." Rodrik led me into his office, Spartan in decoration, but functional and practical all the while. The only noticeable piece of furniture was a suit of armour at the size, stood at ghostly attention. "Like I've said, this lot you have me bringing up to something worthy of an army will be better than any of the half-assed levies that your other lords will be able to call to arms."

I rubbed at my chin in thought. "Fifty thousand doesn't sound so bad." I admitted, but the question was though, would I be able to sustain that large a number? "Come across any troublesome lot yet?"

Rodrik offered me a drink which I declined before he answered my question. "A few, not much. Most of the recruits are nothing more than farm boys who had found themselves not being needed working the fields any more." He raised his cup to me. "Suppose that should be laid at your feet."

"The price of progress." Farm boys being sent away from the farm because of the fact that they weren't needed anymore was the least of my problems. At the very least, people were coming to work in my factories. Or joining my army. They at least got honest pay regularly. "What happened to the few?"

"We either straightened them out or they were shown the door for the more lost causes. After all, you don't want bad characters in your precious army."

"Public relations, good-father. Public relations. I would rather not add fuel to the fire for any lord to say that I'm some sort of tyrant by having savage morons in my army. It would be far better for me if I had any arm that could control itself."

"Idealistic, but futile. When the blood comes to you in battle, men can hardly control themselves." He shook his head then. "Gods know I've seen that happen enough times. Has happened to me a few times."

I knew that much. "I'm not asking them to be angels. I know that when it comes to it...unsavoury things are going to happen, whether I like it or not. But consider me weak for wanting to, at the very least, go to sleep knowing that I tried. Even just a little."

Blue-grey eyes looked at me then, mirth evident in their light. "Never knew you were such an idealist. I'd figured you by now to be the opposite."

"I'm a professional cynic, good-father. I think I'll have that drink now." Rodrik nodded and poured me a cup. "I saw some peculiar recruits in the training yards. Of a Dornish colouring and I think some Summer Islanders as well."

"They would prefer to be called Rhoynish rather than Dornish. The slaves that Lord Addam freed when he took Grey Gallows. When they heard about this little enterprise of yours, the next ships from there had them aboard. They seem to have it in their minds that you might be taking it to the slavers of the Stepstones."

"Unlikely, but whatever keeps them motivated." I took a sip from my cup and forced myself through the initial distaste for the wine and took a deeper drink. "Can't be demoralizing them like this."

Rodrik Stark raised up his glass in cheer. "To the poor bastards that will be at the end of their pikes. Whoever they are."

I raised my cup to that. And in truth, those very same poor bastards would be well deserving of the treatment they would come to receive. 

**xXx**

Apparently, I had come to fall asleep in the castle godswood at some point in time. Funny really, I don't particularly remember going to sleep anywhere near said castle godswood. I don't even remember going to sleep.

So what the fuck?

Rising from the shade of the tree that I had been leaning on, I looked around and noticed that it was rather eerily quiet. By the looks of it, it was the middle of the day and there wasn't even a sound to be heard.

It was then that I realised that I had been sleeping in the shade of the weirwood tree. A present I had planted for my northern wife. Because I care like that.

So this was actually happening?

"I was wondering when this was going to happen." I said aloud, to no-one in particular. "So, which one am I getting, the living human-tree thingy or the standard three-eyed crow special?" I paused in thought for a moment. "Or perhaps you haven't become a tree yet. Maybe you are still human?"

I didn't get a reply, but eventually, I heard the fluttering of wings. From nowhere, hundreds of ravens or crows or any other black coloured bird flew in from every direction possible. Where were they hiding?

And with their coming, I was now remembering The Birds by Alfred Hitchcock. The prospect of being pecked to death was something that I did not look forward to, but unfortunately, I had been surrounded by those damnable birds.

They flew all around me in formation. I think I saw some going clockwise and other counter-clockwise. I refused to be cowed.

Nor impressed. "Pretty trick." I slid my hands into my pockets and leaned back onto the weirwood tree, casual as casual can be. I had come to learn that letting nothing phase me, even when the world ends does wonders to how others perceived you. "Are you going to be doing this all day?" I looked at an imaginary watch that wasn't strapped to my wrist. "I'm a king and I have things to do. Better things to waste my time with than this."

The ravens or crows or whatever they were cried out all at once before they came to perch on the myriad tree branches in the godswood. All looking at me. Thousands of pairs of eyes just staring at me. That was freaky.

And somewhere in those pairs of eyes was a three eyed crow. Or was it raven? It's been so long that I can't particularly recall all of the details.

Talons perched themselves onto my shoulder, light as a feather, but that did not stop me from feeling their sting on my skin. They were pretty sharp. I turned my head and found my self staring into a crow (or raven) with three eyes.

"Brynden Rivers, a pleasure." I greeted with a smirk on my face. "Do you prefer Lord Rivers, Lord Bloodraven or Lord Brynden? You were Hand of the King after all. And family. Proper respect is due. Loving your work to try and save humanity by the way. Much of a fan."

I think I saw the three eyes widen some, but perhaps it was a trick of the light. A raven (or crow)'s eyes were pretty large things. And dark. It was difficult to tell.

"You know of me. I cannot say I am surprised." The crow (raven) said to me, without moving it's beak.

Telepathy? Well, he was in my head or dream, so it was possible. But wasn't shit to do with dreams fall under oneiromancy? I'm more surprised with myself that I was able to remember something like that.

"To save me the trouble, this form of yours, is it of a crow or a raven?"

"A crow."

I nodded. "Good to know." I pushed myself of the weirwood and began to walk down one of the myriad trodden upon paths of the godswood, leaving it to my feet to take me to some sort of destination. "I suppose me and you need to have a little talk."

Those ravens or crows were freaky as fuck. They just continued to watch me as I walked underneath the branches they were perched on and they seemed to be unending of them. No branch was free. It was a forest of black wings.

"I have many questions."

"No doubt. About me, I suspect."

"What are you?" The crow asked, it's three-eyes studying me. "You are not Aerys."

"I am Aerys. Well, I am both Aerys and someone else."

I think the crow frowned. Can crows frown? It continued to speak. "You are not a skinchanger. And a skinchanger as powerful as one would have to be to completely supplant the control of a man is rare to come across. So very rare. So rare I think it impossible."

"Are the peculiarities of my existence so important? I would think the knowledge that I am here to protect the Seven Kingdoms and perhaps the world when the Long Night version. 2 comes along is good enough news."

"Fool!" The crow hissed. "You have changed things. Your careless blundering around has set events into motion that could very well result in the end of all life!"

The woods came to an end, stepping into the open I saw that we had come to the part of the godswood that faced the Blackwater Bay. A Bay that was covered in ice, with distant figures on the ice walking across. I heard the dull boom of cannons being fired, and in the air, flaming shots from catapults and trebuchets sailed through the air in the direction of the shadows.

"Huh," I looked over the scene in front of me. "That's some pretty cool special effects you have going on here. Is this one of the abilities of a greenseer? If so, I can't wait until I have my own greenseer, cause this would be so much fun to screw with peoples dreams like this. Tell me you left at least some kind of instruction manual for someone to learn this bullshit. Cause this bullshit is awesome."

Bravado aside, if this was the future, I better have high-tailed the fuck out of Westeros to my summer fortress in the Summer Islands or something when shit had certainly gone south.

I glanced to the side and noticed the look of incredulity that the crow was giving me. I was thinking this was nothing more than a scare tactic to get me aboard his plans. Probably.

I decided to plough along with my seemingly laissez-faire attitude to the apocalyptic scene in front of me. "What did you do with Dark Sister? You were the last recorded wielder of that particular sword and I want it. The Golden Company probably has Blackfyre. And you had Dark Sister. I swear to every fucking god in this forsaken world you had better not have taken it north with you, or me and you are going to have some words."

The three-eyed crow waved a hand at the scene happening in front of us. "Look at this. This is what you will cause."

"Meh, we can take 'em." I focused my attention on the three-eyed crow. "But seriously, Dark Sister. I want it. Don't make me search for you in the north."

"You don't even know where I am." Brynden Rivers returned, having given up on trying to make me take stoke of the end of the world happening in front of me.

I don't think he knew how much I was freaking out right now. I really hoped this wasn't the future.

I gave him my best grin that showed all of my canines. I thought of the grin that Smaug had on his face as he talked to Bilbo. I hoped mine was just as terrifying. "You don't know what I am. You don't know what I know. How can you be so sure I don't know where you are? I would hate to bring the ruin of a potential ally, especially that of the children. I'd love to have them as allies." A moment of quiet passed between us. "You too as well, if you are interested."

I hoped he was. He knew this shit more than me.

The scenery changed all of a sudden. I found myself not overlooking the Bay, with the army of the dead creeping ever closer to my seat, but in a grove. The ground was covered in snow and I was surrounded by nine weirwoods in a perfect circle.

"Here." Brynden Rivers said to me. "Dark Sister is here."

I scowled. "And where is here?" This could be anywhere, but judging by the snow, I figured somewhere in the north. Hold up. He became the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. I sighed as I looked around, and sure enough, in the distance, the wall stood proud and tall. "Fuck off."

I could feel the smirk on the fucking asshole. "Good luck." He said to me, his voice echoing into the distance as the world around me melted away.

When I blinked, I found myself looking up down onto the training yard below, watching as Ser Lyle Chelstead, master-at-arms drilled and trained the House Targaryen guardsmen.

"Aerys?"

I turned my head and smiled at the sight of my wife. "Yes?"

Branda cocked an eyebrow upwards. "What's the matter? You stared off into space for a moment then."

A moment? It had felt longer than a moment. "Apologies, I got lost in my thoughts."

"You do that for a worrying amount of time." She ran a hand down the bump of her middle. "Thankfully, it seemed none of our children have inherited your absentmindedness."

"I'm not that bad." I laughed, sheepishly. I kissed at her hand. "Apologies my queen, but I shall have to excuse myself. I have a message of import to send."

Branda seemed ready to about say something, but was cut-off by a shout.

"Your grace!"

I turned around and saw one of the royal pages run towards us. A page that was related to my wife through her cousin Benjen Stark and his wife, Jeyne Rosby. If he played his cards right, Martyn might very well be in contention for the inheritance of Rosby in the future. Martyn Stark pumped his legs as he ran towards us, skidding to a halt, barely stopping himself from crashing into us.

Branda didn't like that one bit, placing her hands firmly on her hips, she looked down at her nephew. "Martyn Stark! How many times have you been told no running?"

I took a moment to stand at the side as I watched Benjen's son get a telling off from his aunt. The boy was panting as Branda layed into him. "But...it's important!" The boy wheezed. He continued speaking in between breaths of air. "The Hand...Prince Duncan says to get the king! I ran all over looking for you, your grace!"

"Duncan is it?" Branda said, mulling it over before nodding. "Very well, that's a good enough excuse as any. It seems whatever letter you wanted to send shall have to wait. Go on then, whatever your hand requires of you, must be terribly important to send him running."

I ruffled the young Stark's hair, much to his annoyance. "Anything can send this little sprite running." I bowed at my wife again. "My queen." I said as I left in parting within the company of her nephew.

Whilst I made my way towards the council chambers, I was going through my options on how to retrieve Dark Sister. I could send for Brandon in Hardhome. Or get into contact with the Night's Watch. One or the other.

It was better to ask the Night's Watch in this regard. If I remembered my maps correctly, the haunted forest was the immediate forest in front of the wall. The rangers of the Night's Watch occasionally made their rounds through that forest.

So they probably knew when to find a grove of weirwoods arrayed in a circle. I wondered if that was a natural thing or the act of men or the children.

Duncan and Ser Gerold happened to be waiting for me in the small council chambers along with a strange stick of a man. Ser Gerold was the first to notice me, standing up and bowing. "Your grace." The others followed suit as well, the stick of a man included as well.

"Rise." I waved at them, walking around the council table to take my seat. I eyed the stick of a man with interest, trying to recognise him. I got nothing. "And you are..." I trailed off for a name.

The man gulped down some as he tried to look at anyone but me, or Duncan or Ser Gerold. "Yorrick, your grace."

"Yorrick..." I repeated. Yeah, I still had nothing. I glanced in the direction of my Hand and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for some clarification.

"He's a journalist, your grace. For the Herald."

The man, Yorrick, raised a finger then. "I used to work for them, ser, your graces."

I raised an eyebrow at that, noting the bitterness but I decided to ignore it for now. "I didn't know I was giving interviews, now." Not that they were a bad thing, but I really didn't think I was giving interviews. They hadn't even come to mind.

"Nothing like that." Duncan was immaculate where he sat, and I had to give it to this Yorrick character as he was able to withstand my uncle's gaze for as long as he did without any seeming trouble. "He has some rather important news. News about the dock fires."

That got my interest. I leaned onto the table, adding the weight of my own gaze onto Duncan's very own. "What is this news?"

The journalist shifted around on his seat at the combined weight of a royal stare down on his persons. He licked at his lips. "I have information that the Darklyns may have been involved in the fires, your graces, ser."

That took me back. The Darklyns? What the fuck? I mean, what the fuck? Wasn't the Defiance of Duskendale supposed to be years away? Was this one of the butterflies flapping away it's wings?

"Are you about this?" I asked, putting on my best regal tone of voice. If Georgie boy had described the manner I had asked the question, it would have probably involved tones of some kind of metal. Brass to be sure. Or bronze. Nothing like iron or steel.

But a metal nonetheless.

"He's sure." Duncan answered the question for him. Passing to me a sheaf of papers. "And It's not just the Darklyns."

I picked up the papers and began to skim through them as quickly as possible, picking up the relevant information. Something I had become quite adept at when I want to read something quickly but get the general gist of before going back to it for a more detailed reading.

Through out it all, a name jumped out at me. A name that made me growl as I spoke it out loud. "Alequo Adarys."

Ser Gerold nodded his head gravely. "This is a declaration of war, your grace. By the Darklyns and Adarys. The Iron Throne must respond."

I scrunched up the piece of paper that held Adarys' name and his association with the Darklyns. At this very moment in time, I was not a happy man. Not one bit.

"We will respond." I said to the two of them. Then I glanced towards Yorrick who seemed a little out of his depth. "But first, a suitable reward must be given to our loyal friend here."

"Loyal is not what I would call it, your grace." Ser Gerold said, his face having darkened. "He was brought to our attention by another one of his fellows. He had this information long before the fires." The Lord Commander was now practically glaring at him. "If he had brought what he knew to us, we would have been well prepared for the Darklyns treachery."

I glanced at Yorrick once more who was trying so very hard to sink into his chair, or better yet, hoping that the ground would just swallow him up whole.

"I had my reasons." He protested, weakly.

There was a calmness to my uncle's face, but I could feel the anger and venom with each word he spoke. "Great reasons I'm sure. Reasons such as gold."

The fire came back to Yorrick then. "No. Not just the gold. Bu the story." He looked at me then. "Didn't your grace charge us, the Herald to spread out and share whatever news of import we came across? That would tantalize our readers? Keep the people hanging onto our very word?"

Well, I'm pretty sure I said that, but that was just for the public. In private, the Herald was my fucking propaganda piece. Truth and all that went really my things. I just wanted people to think me a swell guy.

"I do remember saying that." I lied with a nod. "But only if that news didn't threaten the lives of my many subjects. Guess what? This news threatened the lives of my subjects. This news killed my subjects. You should have brought this to the proper authorities."

After the chastisement, Yorrick dropped down in his seat. "What is to happen to me, your grace?"

"I'll think of something. Until then, consider yourself my guest." I called for a guard to take him away and into the tender custody of House Targaryen. I was left alone with my Lord Commander and Hand. "Do the Darklyns know, that we know of their hand in this?"

Duncan frowned. "I doubt it. We have been investigating for some time now with no clues until today. It would not be foolish of Bennar Darklyn to think that he was able to get away with his treachery."

"They won't be prepared when we march onto them for their treachery." Ser Gerold added his voice to the discussion.

"Good. Keep it that way. I will allow Lord Bennar and Alequo to savour their apparent victory. It will all be the sweeter when their worlds come crashing down on them." I rested my chin onto hand. "This would be the part where I leave the gathering of intelligence on our enemies, but since we don't have a spymaster at the moment, we'll have to make do."

"What will you have us do, your grace?" The Lord Commander asked.

"Well, a retaliatory strike at Tyrosh is a given for their part in this, but what's important at the moment is to bring Lord Bennar to answer for his crimes of treason. I know you aren't much of a spymaster, uncle, but would it be possible for you to place people inside the walls of Duskendale?"

Duncan mulled over it in his thoughts for a moment before answering. "It would be difficult, but doable."

"Then do so. I want to know how many men their armouries can arm. How many knights. Their strengths. Their weaknesses. Everything."

Duncan nodded. "Just so you know, a spymaster I am not. I can possibly give you less than half of what you ask."

"Less than half is better than nothing."

 **xXx**


	40. Chapter 40

**xXx**

 **1st Month 268AC  
**  
The day was bright and warm, far more different to the temperatures that he had come to find himself getting used to all the way beyond the wall. Closing his eyes, it was nice to feel the kiss of the sun on his skin and the gentle caress of it's warmth upon him.

By the old gods, he was a Stark of Winterfell. The cold was supposed to be his home and here he was, getting all flustered at a little warmth.

"How long has it been since you last saw that?" Ser Samwell Ayers asked as he nodded in the direction of the bloody red wound that dominated the King's Landing skyline, the Red Keep itself.

Brandon was quiet for a moment as he thought about it. "Not long, but long enough, I suppose." How long had it been exactly? Sometime over a year that he was sure off. "I supposed I missed this place some. Not that much though." He took a sniff of the air as their ship made it's way into port. "Doesn't smell as much anymore. I would say that it gets better with each passing year."

The captain of the ship cast him a toothy grin. "I'd agree with that as well." Ser Samwell was a tall man, his body hardened by years of work upon a ship since he was nothing more than a boy and dressed in dark blue clothing. The most striking feature about Ser Samwell was the lone black eye-patch that covered the eye he had lost fighting in the Ninepenny War. Once upon a time, Ser Samwell was the bastard son of a Bywater. He jumped somewhat when a large figure brushed past him onto the next deck. He grumbled, his hand moving away from the sword at his side. "I swear, if that cat does that one more time, I'll be finding myself with a new shadowcat coat. I hear those things are mighty warm."

Brandon sniffed as he followed the black and white feline as it made it's way towards it's master. "She wouldn't like that."

"A nice sharp steel into her throat would make whatever argument about the matter irrelevant."

Brandon took a moment to think about that. From what he had come to learn of wargs, he doubted that would be the actual end of that particular conversation. "If you feel like acquiring the wrath of the king, then let it be. Although I'd wish you mustn't. Until I am told other wise, the girl and the others are among my companions and I would be forced to protect them."

Ser Samwell shook his head, his hands digging into the pockets of his woollen great coat of dark blue and golden embroidery. "Nothing more than a jape, my lord. They must be rather important if you are bringing wildlings all the way to the capital."

Brandon only nodded at that. From all of the men upon the Breakspear, he was the only one who knew the true nature of the guests and wildlings that he had brought aboard. Of course, Brandon wasn't a fool. He was sure that Ser Samwell and a couple of the other men had been able to make guesses as to what they were.

Anyone well versed in the folklore of the north would be hard pressed not to make a guess of some accuracy. The shadowcat and eagles that they had brought aboard would have more than set enough tongues wagging.

Thankfully, it seemed they were smart enough to keep whatever knowledge they knew to themselves from what he had come to learn.

The shadowcat belonged to a young girl no older than thirteen. Brandon found her at the bow of the ship, eyes closed, the wind blowing her hair behind her. She seemed to be enjoying the sun. Not that he could blame her, he was sure that for all her entire life, she had probably never felt the warm kiss of the sun on her skin in this manner.

The shadowcat purred as it locked it's golden eyes on him.

"Stark." The girl said, turning around. In the light, her already pale skin had already become too pale, and her hair was stark white and her eyes a blood red. Yarra was an albino. An albino that was also a warg. It was said amongst the wildlings that she was the child of the Bloodraven. Poppy cock to be sure, but he could understand why the wildlings would say that with the tales that surrounded Lord Bloodraven. "Come to join me in this glorious day?"

"No. I came to ask about the others."

She shrugged her slender shoulders and indicated into the sky. Brandon looked up. "They are up there somewhere. In their eagles. Both Cregan and Beron." Yarra told him. "I think they want to see this King's Landing...or perhaps they want to feel the sun on their wings as they dance through the blue skies. Perhaps I should join them as well. I do wonder what the sun would feel like in Tonks."

"There's no time. We'll be making port soon. I would wish for them to be back in their bodies. I would rather not have them carried to the Red Keep. It wouldn't be much of an impression." He said to the young warg.

She shrugged at that. "And what would you want me to do, Stark? Call for them? They can come back on their own. I am not their minder. If not by the time we make port, then I suppose you shall have to carry them. I don't think either of them will care on what sort of impression they will make to the King of the Kneelers." Her shadowcat made a sound then, bearing it's teeth in his direction, and it's eyes had narrowed into tight slits.

Brandon took the warning and backed off. There was no need for an unnecessary violence. "Very well, I'll see to them. Good day, Yarra."

"Good day to you too, Stark." She closed her eyes and turned to face the city.

As he left her there, Brandon wondered if she was going to take to her eagle as she said she would. She hadn't suddenly dropped to the deck, so as far as he cared, that meant that her mind was still very much still in her body.

"That looked like it went well." Ser Samwell muttered as he collapsed a Myrish eye and tucking it into the inside of his coat. The young captain then proceeded to rub at his cleanly shaved chin, in thought.

That made Brandon curious. "Problems?"

Ser Samwell seemed to be in thought for a moment before shaking his head. He motioned nonchalantly in the direction of the ports of King's Landing. "I'm seeing a lot of Navy ships in that dock. And a whole lot more in the bay. We passed quiet a few of them."

Turning to face the port, Brandon could make out, with some squinting, the black sails and dragons of the Royal Fleet in port. Still, this wasn't all that surprising to him. There was always a contingent of Fleet ships at dock or patrolling the bay to serve as protection of the capital from an attack from the seas.

"So?" He asked, not seeing a problem. "There's always Navy ships at port or patrolling the bay."

Ser Samwell's face was cast in stone as he bit at his lower lip. "Not in that number." He shook his head. "Forget about it, my lord. Probably the ramblings of a men who's too far paranoid for his own good. I'll leave you to it, my lord. I'll begin the preparations for making port."

The captain left him alone not long after, leaving Brandon to his own thoughts and devices. 

**xXx**

When they had made port, Cregan had been the only one who had returned from his flight of fancy into the skies. His companion, Beron was still very much somewhere up there in the clouds. Hopefully, Beron wouldn't be too lost by the sight of King's Landing to forget to how to return to his own body.

That meant that they had resorted to having the young man carried in a cart to the Red Keep.

Making their way towards Aegon's Hill and the Red Keep, Yarra and Cregan was astounded into quiteness as they saw the hustle and bustle of the capital city of the Seven Kingdoms. To them, everything was a sight. The people, the streets, the noise. Everything.

"How can you feed all of these people?" Cregan asked as his head swivelled from left to right, catching it all in. "There must be thousands. I saw it from up high, but it's very much different when you are on the ground."

The people on the curb would stop and stare at the shadowcat that rode beside Yarra's own horse. The giant cat had spooked the horses at first, but they had soon quietened down faster than he thought it was possible. Perhaps the doing of one of them? Was that in the abilities of a warg? He still didn't fully understood the abilities they were able to conjure up.

Yarra made a noise. "I've seen nothing but green and brown ever since we came south, Creg. I'm sure they can farm."

"That we can." Brandon turned to face the both of them, giving them a level look. "I know I have said this already-."

Cregan cut him off as he waved his hand irritably. "Yes, yes. The traditions of us freefolk are not the traditions of you kneelers. We betray your king's peace, then we pay the price. We understand. You have more than repeated yourself enough times for us to understand, Stark."

Brandon could only nod his head at that. "Good. When Beron comes too, you can tell him that as well. The king is a merciful man and he may find use for your particular talents, but I doubt he will take kind for any disturbances in his city."

After that, it wasn't long that they arrived at the Red Keep. A rider had been sent out ahead of them to tell the staff of their approach and for a message to be sent to the king of his arrival.

It wasn't the king that met him though when he entered the courtyard of the Red Keep. It was his cousin, seemingly with child. Again.

"Brandon!" Branda cried out as she pulled him into a hug. Branda was not small by any means, but him and Benjen have always been tall. He had to bend down slightly to allow Branda to hook her arms across his neck.

He placed a gentle hand on the small of her back. "Is this proper etiquette for a queen?" He asked in amusement.

"Piss on that." Branda replied with a mock frown as she released the hug. "I haven't seen you for a year and you haven't written much at all. I couldn't particularly careless about 'proper queenly etiquette' at this very moment in time." She smiled at him then. "How have you been? The north not too cold for you is it?"

"I'm a Stark of Winterfell. I'm offended you have to ask that question." His eyes drifted down to her growing middle. "I see our gracious king has you with child again."

She smirked then, her canines almost peering over her lips like the fangs of a wolf. "Not for a lack of trying, mind you. He's very vigorous with the right incentive."

"A girl or boy this time?"

"Haven't really thought about it too much to be honest. But I suppose a girl will do. Dany seems awfully outnumbered nowadays." The queen laughed then before her eyes caught onto something behind him.

Brandon didn't need to be told at what could have taken his dear cousin's attention. The wildlings that he had brought from beyond the wall with him stood out. Everywhere they had gone, ever since they began their journey south from Hardhome, people would stare.

If it wasn't for Yarra being a red eyed albino, it was because of said albino's large shadowcat creature that was always beside her. If not for that, it was for obviously the clothing that they wore. Even more so to the fashions of the capital.

Branda walked past him and made her way towards the two wildlings and looked them over. Something that Yarra didn't seem to appreciate. "Want to say something, Queen Kneeler?"

Brandon nearly cursed underneath his breath. Could they not be at the very least be respectable about it?

At the provocation, the queen only raised a single, well looked after eyebrow in response. "Queen Kneeler? That's certainly a new one. Most have given me the title of Wolf Queen, the Ice Queen, Mother of Dragons and such. Some not so much as pleasant as the one you gave me, you shall have to try harder." She replied with a smile on her lips. "But I see you two shall somehow be involved in another one of my husbands mad schemes or plans. In other words, we might be seeing a lot of each other in the future, instead of Queen Kneeler, how about we just start by calling me Branda? In return you can give me your names."

A stand-off between Yarra and Branda ensued then, Cregan watching on in amusement with his arms crossed, seemingly ignoring the tension that seemed to have cast a net over them when the two women had started glaring at each other.

The shadowcat licked at it's paws. "Yarra." The warg eventually relented with a slight incline of the head.

Branda smiled and she turned towards the other wildling. Cregan answered without any trouble or confrontation on his part. "Cregan and that in the cart is Beron." He finished, thumbing in the direction of the cart where Beron lied.

Branda looked at the cart. "What's wrong with him?"

Cregan grinned. "Oh nothing. He's just flying." 

**xXx**

"Brandon!"

The king was still as touchy and overly familiar like the last time that he had seen him. He had yet to even have taken more than ten steps into his office that he found himself within the hold of Aerys' hug.

"Your grace." He squeezed out. Should he try to return the hug or was that overly familiar on his part? This was all terribly confusing for him. "It's good to see you too." He settled on patting the king's back. Well as much as he could with the limited movement given to him.

The king eventually showed him mercy and released him from his hug. "It's been too long. How long has it been?"

"A year. Just about that." Aerys led him to a seat that he was thankful to take.

"That's about right." Aerys said as he nodded his head, stroking at an invisible beard on his comely face. "Have you seen Martyn? He's coming up rather nicely."

The thought of his nephew made him think of his brother. He would have to make the time to ride out to see him or send some sort of message. Him, his nephew and Rodrick. But that was for later. First he had to attend to his duties here at the moment.

"That can wait for now." He replied. "I've brought the wargs."

The king nodded as he took his own seat. "One of them has a shadowcat?"

Brandon didn't bother wondering how the king knew. "And an eagle. Like you said, I only looked for the ones with birds as their animals."

"You only found those three?"

"In the wildlings clans that have come to settle in Hardhome, yes."

The king was quiet for a moment before nodding. "Well, that's better than nothing. Speaking of Hardhome, any difficulties as of late?"

Brandon shook his head. "No your grace. Everything is quieting down. The turbulent years seem to have passed, although we do have to keep a particular look-out for some of the larger clans in case they try to make an attack on us."

Aerys searched for something on his desk before finding it and bringing a piece of paper to his face. "The last census you sent us said that the total population is now just a little under two thousand?"

"And growing, if somewhat at a steady pace." Less and less wildling children died shortly after childbirth along with their mothers due to the improved surroundings and healthcare that was available in Hardhome. "For the first time in a while. Growth was mostly kept in check because before the clans learned to live with each other, they tended to kill each other every now and then."

That had been annoying to say the least. Trying to put law and order to a group of people that rejected such notions of civilisation was difficult to say the least. It was why he had taken to quickly ending any feuds that started as peacefully as possible. If not, there was always a good beheading for both troublemakers.

Thankfully, most of the clans that had come to settle in Hardhome underneath the protection of the Crown were weak compared to the larger ones that still roamed the expanses of the north.

"I'm sure you kept it well handled." The king said with a nod in his direction. "How long are you going to be staying? You can stay for as long as you like. I've sent a rider to alert your brother of your arrival. I'm sure he wouldn't mind riding down and seeing you. He's probably missed you. In fact, I shall order you for the next month to do nothing but enjoy yourself. See friends and family. No work for you."

Brandon inclined his head. "As you command, your grace." His hand drifted to the sword belt that hanged around his waist limply. "As for the other task you set for me before my arrival, I have it." He said to the king as he held out the sheathed blade within it's scabbard in front of the king.

The king looked at the scabbard for a moment, taking it all in. There was nothing fanciful about the scabbard, just a plain black colour with the leather that it was made out of having seeing the wear and tear of time in the harsh conditions that he had found it.

"Is that...?" The king trailed off.

"Yes." Replied Brandon as he pulled out the blade from within it's sheath, a quiet rasping sound accompanying the action. From within the worn scabbard, a blade of a smoky grey colour that was almost black revealed itself. "Dark Sister, your grace."

The king could only smile and nod at the sight of the Targaryen heirloom. 

**xXx**

The village of Aberford was located a little of the kingsroad, a two days ride from the capital. The journey could be shorter with hard riding, but they didn't want to wear out the horses, so they had taken a subdued pace.

By the time they had arrived at Aberford, the sky was awash with a dozen shades of orange as the sun was busy setting itself in the western horizon. "We'll be staying here until we're done." Harry said as he led the group towards an inn.

The inn was small. Not that big and it seemed to be in a bit of a better state than most buildings in the village. It had probably been a brand new construction. It wouldn't have been all that surprising considering the history of the village.

There was no stable boy to come and take their horses for them, so they had to do that themselves. Small. Just as Ryam had thought.

Harry turned to face the other three that had come with them. "Torrence, Kevan, Lewys, you lot find us some rooms. I'm sure we have more than enough in coin for separate lodgings, but if you want to save some coin, then we can share rooms between the five of us. Me and Ryam will go about to find the village ealdorman and the local septon."

The three of them nodded. "Yes sir." They replied before heading inside towards the inn.

Ryam shook out a leg to get some feeling back into it. "How are we going to find them?"

"It shouldn't be so difficult to find a sept." Harry said as they began to walk through the village. "And from there, we can find the ealdorman."

"Or we can just go to the biggest building that we can see." He offered as an alternative, pointing to a building that was bigger than the rest in the village. "From experience, tall buildings tend to be somewhat important. Have you seen the Red Keep or the Great Sept lately?"

Harry laughed, presumably at the logic that Ryam had used, but nonetheless, they changed direction and began to make their way towards the tall building. The building was clearly important for the reasons that Ryam had pointed out, but also for the fact that it happened to be rather centrally located.

Also, a sept was just down the road from where it was located.

Great oaken doors were pushed open wide to allow entrance inside. Inside the hall, there was a sparse scattering of people, getting ready to head back to their homes after a days work. "So who looks the most important here?" Ryam asked as he looked around for someone of some authority.

"Perhaps we may ask instead of looking fruitlessly. Excuse me ser," Harry said as he went to one of the people in the hall that had been walking in their direction, perhaps going home. At Harry's calling, the man stopped and looked in their direction. "You wouldn't happen to know where we can locate the ealdorman would you?"

"The ealdorman?" The man repeated before pointing towards the back of the hall. "That be him over there. Man with the salt and pepper hair, m'lord."

Harry cast the man a smile and inclined his head in thanks. "Thank you ser and good day."

The man bowed. "And good day to you two, m'lords." He said before quickly disappearing through the doors.

With their instructions, the two knights made their way to the back of the hall and looked for the man with the salt and pepper hair. They passed a couple of children that were busy lighting some sconces hanging on the walls despite there still being light outside as it filtering through the plain windows hanging off the ground.

Like the man had said, the ealdorman had salt and pepper hair, with lined features of age and hard, calloused hands from years of toiling in the fields. They came upon the man whilst he was at the tail end of a conversation with another. "By any chance, might you happen to be the ealdorman of Aberford?" Harry asked politely enough.

The ealdorman turned to face them, a frown on his face quickly disappearing. "That would be me, m'lords. Thom." He said in introduction. "Thom Farmer." He added quickly enough.

Ryam wondered what had been in the value of giving the smallfolk two names. Simple names in truth, that didn't indicate to any form of prestige or history. From what he had learned of some of the smallfolk that talked of their second names, they acted as if having a second name somehow made them highborn.

It didn't really make any sense to him as to why the king would do such a thing.

Harry smiled and introduced the two of them. "I'm Ser Harrold Wendwater and my companion here is Ser Ryam Reyne." Ryam inclined his head slightly in greeting. "We're with the Crown Army."

Thom Farmer's eyes blinked for a few moments. "Ah, then you must be here to train the...'reserves' is it?"

"Aye."

"Just the two of you?"

They shook their heads and this time, it was Ryam that answered the man. "No. We have three others with us. They are currently at the village inn."

"So five of you then?" Thom Farmer asked as he rubbed his calloused hands on his chin. "Then you have some work cut out for you. I'd thought they would be sending more men."

Ryam raised a single eye-brow up. "Why would you say that?"

"I don't know about you, but five men training some hundred or something men? That's going to be a task." Ryam and Harry shared a look between themselves quickly enough, both of them agreeing that this was going to be quiet a task. "Is there to be a war my lords, that requires having some of our young men prepare for it?"

A good question by the ealdorman, but he was asking the wrong people. Him and Harry, despite having served as the king's squires, were still only given the information that was required of them. Nothing more, nothing less.

Harry shook his head. "No war." He answered, speaking quietly as he looked around. "Just a new policy being enacted."

"New policy eh?" The ealdorman shook his head. "The Crown has been enacting a lot of new policies lately. Not that I'm complaining. All of them have done well for us. Did you know, a decade back, we didn't have a village sept or septon. Now we have both a sept and septon, along with a septa as well. Less children and women die in the birthing beds now because of what they have done. Can't thank the good king, both the new and the old one for what they've done for us folks."

He stopped his rambling for a moment. "Well, it was nice enough meeting you, m'lords. I'll have some of my lads go tell the young'uns to come to one of the fields tomorrow."

"Bit quick isn't it?" Ryam voiced his opinion. He didn't mind, but he would prefer it if these men that they were going to be torturing for the next two weeks.

Harry agreed with him. "Let them enjoy tomorrow. We'll meet them the day after."

The ealdorman nodded. "As you wish m'lords. I'll sent out the summons." 

**xXx**

"Well, they look big enough." Torrence remarked as he looked over the field that held the hundred young men.

"And strong enough." Lewys grunted in agreement.

Torrence sniffled. "They're farm boys, Lewys. At the very least, they should be strong enough, working the fields all day. Don't know about how smart they would be though. Being farm boys and all."

"As long as they are smart enough to follow orders, I don't really care for what they have in their heads." Lewys remarked as he crossed his burly arms over his chest. "What say you, ser?" He asked, his eyes drifting over to the direction where Ryam stood.

Ryam shrugged as he looked over the group of a hundred farm boys and men. "Same as you, in truth. As long as they are smart enough to follow orders, then I don't really care. Well, that and the fact that I also happen to agree with Torrence about them being looking big enough. Being big can do a lot when it comes down to a fight."

Harry and Kevan made their approach towards them, having finished a head count of the group. "Exactly a hundred men." Harry said.

"I'm sure we can have more than a hundred." Lewys told them. "Saw a lot of boys doing a whole lot of nothing yesterday. I suppose you could call some of those boys, men as well."

Harry shook his head. "No. A hundred will do. Just like we were ordered to." He looked in the direction of the field once more filled with nervous looking men waiting for their lords to give out their instructions. "Alright, this is what we'll do. We'll first have them run a couple of laps. See if they are as fit as they look. Then afterwards, we'll split them down into more a more manageable number between the five of us. Any questions?" He asked, looking around. They shook their heads. "Alright, let's get to it then!" 

**xXx**


	41. Chapter 41

**xXx**

"This is folly." Branda berated me, just a moment before she took a moment to sigh in relaxation as I worked at her feet. Apparently, Branda liked having her feet massaged, and considering her pregnancy, man did she like not being on her feet for too long.

Betha was in agreement with my queenly wife as she laid down on a couch, idly picking at a cup of grapes nearby. She might have been the picture of an all relaxed queen, but when she spoke, their was a firmness behind it. It meant that you had to listen. "You have capable vassals underneath you. There is no need for you to take the field personally."

And I listened.

I worked my fingers on Branda's feet to get even more into whatever bliss she was currently finding herself in. I genuinely had no idea what I was doing, I was merely working my hands on her feet and that seemed to be working just fine.

The Queen Dowager continued speaking as she picked at the stump of a grape. "If you must have someone represent you on the field, sent Ser Rodrik. He is your general, is he not? If not him, any of your 'Knight-Captains'." Like many, she was still getting used to the new organisation of the Kingsguard.

I was just giving them time to get used to it.

Branda wasn't wholly into it, but she was in agreement all the way. "Yes. Sent Father. He'll see your will be done. There's no need for you to endanger yourself."

"I won't be endangering myself. I can barely fight as it is remember?" I raised up my right arm that wasn't useful, but at the same time, wasn't all that useless. Fine motor skills being a skill that had been taken away from me. Thank you, Old Mother. "Others will be doing the fighting for me."

"All the more reason for you to remain with the Red Keep, to rule over your kingdoms."

I shook my head as I released the leg that was within my lap to move onto the next one. From the corner of my eyes, I could see with some amusement, Ser Gwayne, making a valiant effort to look at anywhere else other than his queen's bare ankles.

Ankles were sexy, apparently.

"The men need to see me. The man they will be fighting." I stopped for a moment. "And the king they will be dying for." After all, in this particular day and age, what was the point of dying for a distant man who you never know?

I doubt many of the men will be able to know me, but the few that I will 'forcefully' ingratiate myself with will be more than willing to spread tales about me. I liked to think I wasn't bad with this whole image making thing.

Betha shook her head. "I swear, you are just as stubborn as your Father."

"It seems to be a trait that runs in the family. Grandfather, you, Duncan...I can go on." I said with a little twinkle in my eyes. And it was less more of me being stubborn and more than me being in the field had a purpose. "And anyway, in the worst case scenario, there's Luc and Theo on hand. The future of the realm is quite secure."

It was all meant in jest, but someone didn't take that statement as much of a jest. In hindsight, I should have taken to note that there was currently a pregnant, somewhat hormonal woman nearby as Branda gave me a quick kick with nearest available foot. "That's not funny." She said with a frown.

My grandmother just seemed more interested in shaking her head at my statement. Had she been shaking her head the moment that I had said it?

I rubbed at my middle. I had barely felt the kick, it being something of a weak thing, but little things like this could do a whole wonder. "Sorry, sorry. It was in bad taste. Won't happen again."

"Why would you say something like that? Do remember that the gods do love their little games."

When she says it like that, what I did say was if anything, a red flag and I was in Westeros. I should probably cut that shit out. I decided to try and change the subject from matters of state to something else entirely.

Something more pressing. Like my wife's pregnancy.

"Is it just me, or are you bigger compared to the times you were pregnant with our current brood."

The expression on Branda's face changed from one of annoyance and worry with me to a thoughtful one rather quickly. She looked at her belly and cocked her head to the side. "Mayhaps? I don't really know." She looked towards her grandmother-in-law. "Am I bigger?"

Betha gave me a look that was just brimming with amusement before she answered. "Well, you are only...five, six months along?" Branda nodded. "Yes. You are certainly bigge-oh."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Betha smiled widely then. "I do believe that we shall be expecting two new, little dragons in a few months time."

Two? What the hell was she-. "Oh."

Branda looked between me and Betha, annoyance slowly rising. "What are you two talking about? What does two-oh." She stopped as she looked at her growing belly.

I stopped the magic that I was working to look at her growing belly. "So twins." Or triplets...did Westeros have triplets? I don't remember anything from the books about triplets, but then again, my reading of the books had been on particular view point chapters and that was it.

Could I handle triplets? Well, even if I couldn't handle them, I could just foist them to their nursemaids. Sometimes, it was good to be king.

Branda slowly nodded her head, before frowning in my direction. "This is all your fault."

"Hey, it takes two to tango here. Half of the blame has to rest on your lap as well."

My wife and queen seemed to be in disbelief as she looked at me. "I can't believe you are actually blaming this on me." Whist this was happening, my grandmother was busy smiling to herself.

"Oh do stop it you two. You are missing the most important revelation about this entire situation." We looked at to expound on this supposed revelation. My grandmother's smile couldn't get any wider than it already was. "I now have even more little dragons to spoil. Now if only Steffon and Rhaella would bring their children to the capital, I would be the happiest grandmother in all the world." She finished with a grin that was borderline insufferable.

 **xXx**

I once had dreams of the streets of King's Landing littered with street lights, bring light and the wonders of technology to all. The side benefit of helping lower crime helped as well, but that hadn't really been on my mind at the time.

I just liked the notion of having to walk the streets at night without some sort of lamp at hand.

For this, I had gone the full nine in trying to develop a generator capable of giving enough light for the city. The Blackwater was a fast flowing river and a hydro-electric power plant was on the top of my list. It's just well, I wish I had something more than rudimentary high school level of knowledge. Well, the knowledge that I do remember.

Making an electric motor with some wire and a lodestone? Easy.

A hydro-electric power plant? Easy in theory. I had told myself and Serret when it came to planning it that it was essentially a giant over-sized electric motor...which it sort of was. It just turns out there's more to conducting electricity through the wires than I figured.

I had no idea what though.

I wasn't a scientist and I had a pretty much rudimentary understanding, perhaps even less that rudimentary understanding of electrolysis...I don't even think that is a thing, so fuck it, I had jack shit on anything to do with electricity other than building an electric motor and a home-made light bulb out of stuff. Thank you internet.

So that meant no street lights for King's Landing to make it the beacon of civilisation that would make the rest of Westeros jelly. Perhaps even across the narrow sea from Braavos all the way to Yi Ti...if they came to find out about that shit.

Well, that didn't really stop me from stopping people from studying electricity. Quite a few people were rather interested in harnessing the power of lightning and how it worked. Perhaps something might come out of it.

I doubted it would be in my life time though, but I would work with what I had. And working with what I had, had led to some rather interesting developments. Well, development, but that was something for later.

What I'm trying to say is, I had pretty much run out of things to introduce to Westeros. Things had gone well, others not so much. Artificial fertilizer had been a bust, have to work with the natural stuff until someone picks up on that, more than likely after I'm dead. Cannons were a success, after quiet a period of trial and error, but brass was expensive and I wished it wasn't.

And I was still rather peeved off about the fact that street lights were not going to happen.

So seeing Serret pace outside my office like some sort of excited puppy was all rather surprising especially by the looks of pure amusement that the two Kingsguard knights standing outside my office door were trying to remove when they saw my approach. Me and Gwayne shared a look between the two of us before I called the former pyromancer and now my head science/engineering guy. "Serret, is there something the matter?"

I might have spooked him a little as his eyes widened and he might have jumped a little. "Your Grace!" He was excited, that was for sure. Excited about what though, was the question. He walked quickly towards me and grasped my hands into his own. "We've done it!"

"Done what?" I asked, more than a little confused as I tried to recall anything that I might have given Serret to do. Well, he had the electricity thing, but that was more or less on the back burner because nobody knew how to go about it...there was no way. My eyes might as well have been sparkling. "My street lights!?"

The street lights were very important to me.

Serret gave me a strange look before he shook his head. "No, your grace."

"Oh." Well, there went all of my joy and happiness at this nonsense. I slid my hands out of his. "So what's all this about?"

"We've finally done it, your grace. The engine! It works!"

I looked at Serret for a few good moments before speaking. "You are fucking with me, are you Serret?"

"I would never, your grace." The science/engineering guy replied, shaking his head vigorously. "After so long, we've finally been able to bring those designs to life."

"Does it work though?" I asked and he nodded. "Has it, by any chance, gone boom?" At that, his nodding was a little less sure. I was quick to note this. "That does not fill me with much confidence." I wasn't going to be anywhere near anything that exploded.

"We've had a fill problems, but problems that can be fixed as we get a better understanding of how it works and where we need to improve." Serret told me, sincerely.

I nodded in understanding. "Alright then, come back to me when those problems have been solved." His face dropped a little. I didn't mean to sound like a bastard as Serret had pretty much dedicated his entire life to serving me. His way of atoning for the bullshit wildfire incident that happens several years back. "But well done. To be honest, I wasn't really expecting much from this project considering our success rate."

Serret perked up a little there and here was me hoping that had been enough to bring him back from that down moment I had sent him into. "This one is simple enough." I think he forgot to add 'in theory' somewhere in there. Steam engines sounded simple but I doubted they would have taken as long as they would have been to be developed if they were simple.

For starters, I sincerely doubted the steam engine that Serret and company had been able to develop would be the type that I want. I want one that was small enough, I don't even know if that is a thing, to be used to power a locomotive. I suppose a steam engine used to pump water from mines was useful, but my number one priority was a locomotive, for logistical purposes after all.

But then again, a working one was still progress. I suppose I should have to wait some more until a time comes for a locomotive, or perhaps even a paddle ship of some kind? There was always that.

"...The applications for such a machine is unheard off. This might be amongst the greatest inventions ever made by man. And it's all thanks to you." Apparently, Serret had continued speaking when I had gone off into my head.

I smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "The credit goes to you and your people, Serret. I'm just the ideas guy. I don't even know how most of the things I've told you to make for me work. Blame the gods for being half-arsed in their designs for me." We laughed then. "Now I shouldn't keep you, I'm sure you have more things to do than waste time with me."

He stood straight then. "It's never a waste of time to be within your presence, your grace."

"You are only saying that because I pay you." I replied jokingly. "But thank you for the update. I look forward to even more wondrous inventions from your labs."

Serret took a step back and placed his right arm across his chest to touch his left shoulder and bowed. "We won't disappoint, your grace."

He left not long afterwards, Gwayne watching him disappear down the only corridor that led to my office. "You have a strange way with people."

"It's my charm." I think. Oh, there was a question of the ages, do I have charm? I was going to need to ask someone that eventually. Someone who wasn't biased in their opinion of me. "For better or for worse." I finished under my breath as I stepped into my office.

There was no rest for the wicked. Even if you were C average at best when it came to running things. Good thing delegation existed, other wise foisting work you didn't want to do to your subordinates.

Gods, sometimes, it was good to be the king. 

**xXx**

Maegor had surprised me, just by how quick he worked. He had only returned from Lys a few weeks ago, accepting my job offer, and he had already nearly finished up the structure for the bank. Mind you though, me and Duncan had done half of the work for him, but his zeal at his new job was quiet worthwhile.

A quick scan over the first page of the papers, I could see a list of names along with numbers that was undoubtedly, quite a lot of zeroes. I wondered if by any chance these lot were money lenders? The closest thing to bankers that were available in the Seven Kingdoms, I guess.

This was quiet the list and I'm sure there were more names to the list than me and Duncan had been able to round up.

"You haven't even settled in yet and already at work." I commented absentmindedly as I idly flicked over to the next page.

Not going to lie, most of the more technical stuff was going straight over my head. I was going to need to find someone who understood what the fuck was going on to explain this shit more clearly to me.

The new President/Governor of the yet to be created Royal Bank of Something said. "I want to get this over and done with as quick as possible. The quicker we settle this matter as soon as possible, the easier it is to move on in the future."

I nodded as I continued to pretend to understand most of the stuff that was in front of me. Some of the proposals flew over my head, but some I could sort of figure out. There was a few worries about the other kingdoms threatening the central bank and proposals to battle this that included laws, royal charters etc etc.

Why this sort of this was important, I had no idea, but I figured since Maegor knew his stuff, it was probably important.

Brilliant. More homework for me to study up on.

Duncan started making small talk. "I hope you are not rushing this. At the very least you could have settled into your new home and the city."

"Your city is underwhelming. Not really much to see or do." Maegor answered blithely enough. "There isn't even a theatre, and even if there was, I fear at the quality of plays on hand."

I was starting to think perhaps that Maegor wasn't at all happy to be in King's Landing or Westeros. Was Lys that good?

Speaking of theatres. "You know, that isn't a half-bad idea."

Maegor stopped to look at me. "What is?"

"A theatre." I said. "A theatre isn't half bad. You know, liven up the culture a little with plays or musicals or whatever else is held in theatres."

Maegor looked somewhat amused with me. "I wasn't aware that 'mummer's farces' were held so high in regard in Westeros. I would have almost missed it with the abundance of playhouses on display."

"I don't really care much for plays or musicals in truth." I admitted, letting the sarcasm roll of my back. It's not like he didn't have a point. "I just figure it would be something fun to have." I snapped my fingers in realisation. "Ooh, concerts as well. And I'm sort of angry that you haven't yet introduced me to your family. Me, you, Duncan, we are family after all."

Duncan had a wry smile on his face as he looked over the top of the papers in his hand. "You have yet to introduce your own family to his. And apart from Daeron, mine is in Oldstones. So the point is moot."

"I'm sure there will be a more formal occasion to introduce our families to each other."

"A dinner then? I'll get straight to sorting out the details."

Maegor sighed. "We are getting rather off-track. Can we please get back to the point of our little meeting?"

"Sure, go on ahead." I said, giving him leave with a flourish of the hand and what followed next was a very long hour where I tried to look as if I understood what was all being said and trying my best to ask intelligent sounding questions.

Throughout this whole thing, it made me realise how right I had been in not choosing Economics or Business Studies or Accounting or whatever as subjects to do at university. I wouldn't have known how to bring myself out of bed. 

**xXx**

 **Tygett Lannister**

There was a few things that Tygett liked in this world. Tywin wasn't one of them.

Tywin had summoned him all the way from Casterly Rock, all apparently for the sake of making him stand in front of him for what seemed to be eternity as he worked away at the papers in front of him. The only words that he had spoken ever since he had made his appearance was for him to enter his office.

That was just typical of Tywin in truth. His sheer arrogance knew no bounds and something that always grated on him. Especially now. How long was he going to make him wait?

"Tywin," Tygett began slowly as Tywin continued to scribble away on the parchment in front of him, green eyes flecked with gold darting to one document at the side every once in a while. "I'm sure you are a very busy man, but you are not the only man with things to do in the Seven Kingdoms."

Tywin didn't even bother to glance in his direction.

Tygett breathed in deeply to remain composed. There was no need to get into one of their arguments here and who knows who maybe listening. Although it would bring him all sort of wonders to embarrass Tywin like that, he had promised Genna and Kevan that he would try to be on the best of his behaviour.

He at the very least, liked his other siblings, even if Kevan is nothing more than a sycophantic yes-man.

Eventually, Tywin Lannister, Lion of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock, in all his glory stopped scribbling his letters and slid them to the side. He clasped his fingers together in front of him, elbows resting on the table and those green eyes flecked with gold finally deigned to look at him.

"Tygett."

Was all that he was going to get in terms of recognition? Fine, if he wanted to play that game.

"Tywin." He returned just as coolly. Now it was a game of who was going to break first. A game that he always lost, yet always played, if nothing more for the sake of pride.

To his surprise, Tywin actually broke first. "I have a task for you. A task that I'm sure you will revel in. Suited to your particular strengths."

Well, he supposed now he was interested. This was going to be at the very least, interesting. "What do you want me to exactly?" He asked.

Tywin moved a hand to the side to drag a piece of paper, not parchment, he noticed to the front of his desk. Tygett picked it up and noticed it was one of those recruiting posters he had seen plastered through out the city and on the gold road.

"I'm sure you have heard that the king is currently building a Royal Army."

"Who hasn't?" The rumours had been quick enough to reach Casterly Rock and they were confirmed on the gold road when he first saw the posters as he made his way down to the capital. "What of it?" He had a feeling of where this was going.

"You shall join the army the king's building."

And his feeling was proven correct. Tygett smiled as he crossed his arms. Well, wasn't this rather interesting. "What are you worried about Tywin? That your beloved friend might very well turn his army on the west?"

"I'm worried about nothing, Tygett." There was a brief flicker of anger in those damned eyes of his. "I would prefer to have you installed as the master-at-arms of the Red Keep or a position of influence in the gold cloaks, but I doubt that is possible. Aerys has plans. Plans that I'm not privy too and from my initial learnings his...army might very well become a powerful force in the future. It would be good for House Lannister if some of our own are within it's ranks."

So it seemed Tywin intended to direct more westermen into positions in the army? Knowing Tywin, he won't just stop there. He was going to wound up trying to have westermen in nearly every position in court.

Still though, Tygett couldn't help but smirk. "I remember you once distinctly stating that Aerys was weak, malleable. Easy enough for you to bend him to your will. What's changed?"

"Nothing has changed." Tywin rebuked him with iron tones. "Most likely, Duncan, the Queen Dowager and his wife have the most influence on him. Aerys has never been one to think fully when it came to his whims...Duncan on the other hand." He stopped as he shook his head. "It matters not, you shall join the army and rise up it's ranks to a suitable rank befitting a Lannister."

Was he telling him to be nothing less than the General of the entire army? It made him feel all kinds of warm and fuzzy to know that his brother held him so high in his regards.

Tywin continued to babble on. "Ser Ilyn will show you the way to the army's camp. Enlist there. You distinguished yourself well enough in the Nine Penny War, that should be more than enough to get you a commission as an officer."

"And if it doesn't?"

Tywin slid his letters back to the front of him. "Then do all in your power to rise up in the ranks."

It was always nice, spending time with your brother and bathing in the warm feelings. It was not really much of a shame that none of that happened with Tywin.

 **xXx**


	42. Chapter 42

**xXx**

The plan had been to set off at dawn. It essentially meant that the only people who would have seen him leave the Red Keep would have been the castle servants and the guardsmen that were on duty. Even then, in the early mornings, he would have been surprised to pass the old servant here and there through the various corridors and hallways of the castle.

I had just forgotten to take into account that I happened to be something of an information leak. To be honest, could I be blamed for telling my wife my plans? No? I didn't think so.

I just didn't think that she would try to use this moment to try and get me to step down by trying to use our own children against me. There was a certain... low cunning to that. She knew I happened to have a weakness to this particular brood of mine.

When they asked me for something, I had trouble resisting. I liked them better when they were nothing more than loud squawling babes that I could drown out in white noise. But now? When they could move on their own power and speak? That was quite different to what I was expecting.

"The sun isn't even fully up yet and you two are already up? What's the special occasion?" I asked the both of them, Dany and Luc, feigning ignorance.

The name of the game was trying to figure out what they knew. For all I knew, this wasn't some ploy by my lovely wife (or grandmother, couldn't rule her out...should probably add Duncan to that mix as well) to try and keep me from leaving the castle and setting the business with Duskendale once and for all.

Dany busied herself by idly twirling her hair. "Oh nothing. I thought I would have an early start to the day."

I would have been offended if she thought I would buy that, but the sheer coyness of her statement told me that she didn't think I would buy it or that it was even going to try and be sold on me. I nodded my head slowly. "Okay then, what's your reason?" I asked as I moved my head to look down at my heir.

Luc shrugged as he gave me his answer. "Figured I might as well get an early start on my martial training with Ser Harrys. Might be able to get Arthur, Oswell and Jon to join in as well."

"That's not a bad idea." I said, nodding. "You never know when an extra hour in the training yard may come in handy on the field."

Luc nodded his head as much as his six year old wisdom could muster. "That's true."

"What about you then, father?" Dany asked, eyes pointedly staring up at me. "What are you doing at such an early hour?"

It seemed my Kingsguard were rather enjoying seeing me being interrogated by my own children. Try as they might, but I could see the amusement dancing in the light of their eyes. Didn't they have jobs to do? Which they happened to be doing right now, so I really couldn't fault them.

I quirked my brow upwards in amusement at the sudden turn of questioning from them to me. My daughter was seemingly of the type to get to the point instead of pussy footing around. "Last time I checked, I happened to be King of Seven Kingdoms. My day starts rather early because of that."

They shared a look between the two of them, Luc shaking his head. "That was a stupid question to ask."

"And you have a better one?" Dany retorted.

"I do, in fact!" Luc responded as he turned his attention from his sister to me again. "So what kingly duties require your armour?"

Clever little brat. "All sorts of kingly duties." I replied. I wasn't lying, my armour was going to be used for the duties that is required of me as Protector of the Realm. So it wasn't me lying. I kneeled down to get face level with the two of them and smiled. "Now what exactly is this all about?"

They shared a look between the two of them again and Dany pressed an idle foot into the stone floor. "Mother says you are about to do something stupid and that we should try and stop your from doing that stupid thing."

I figured as much. "It's not stupid." That was my only pet gripe. No plan was stupid until it made contact with the enemy. Until then, everything was completely viable. "It's just something I have to do."

"Why does it need you having your armour though?" Luc asked, shaking his head in confusion. "It's not something dangerous is it?"

I mean, those eyes were getting rather watery and cute. Something those that hanged around the manga and anime scene back in my days, called the 'shota effect' or something along them lines. I'm sure there was a female version as well. It's been a while.

"No it's not." If I had anything to say about it, I was going to be as far away as possible from any sort of fighting. I was just there for moral purposes and to observe. Hopefully, if things worked out the best way possible, no-one was going to die. "I'll be back long before you even knew I was gone."

"But you are going somewhere though...we are seeing you go somewhere..." Dany pointed out slowly. "That sort of defeats your point." She had something of a look on her face that just screamed, 'Gotcha ya!'.

"Where you always this smarta-." I stopped myself there, no need to swear in front of the children. I gave each of them a peck on the forehead. "Go back to sleep the both of you. You have a busy day ahead and I would rather have you well rested to face it." I finished as I stood back up.

They both had a frown that showed that they disagreed with my last command to them, but eventually they relented. "Alright," Dany grumbled, her little arms crossed across her chest. "We'll go, but you better come back quick. Just like you said, we better not notice that you were gone." Said the girl that had just previously defeated my point about that particular statement.

It was nice to know that she was willing to play a certain amount of wilful ignorance on my behalf.

"Dany can go back to sleep, if she wants." Luc said as he kicked at the floor. "I might as well go to the training yard. It wouldn't be a waste to get some early practice in." He finished with a nod of the head in my direction.

I nodded back and smiled. "Good. I promise, I won't be long." 

**xXx**

This was probably going to be longer than I thought it was going to be.

"How long have we been here?" I asked rather calmly as I sipped my tea. It was no PG Tips, but it did the job in calming down the nerves.

Ser Roderick grumbled an answer. "Three days. Going on four."

I nodded as I continued to drink my tea. I look down at the china that held the liquid beverage that every damn near English man was bound to be blessed with at least once in his life. I toyed with the idea of throwing it, then I realised the china was something of an import and expensive and I didn't need that to add to the royal expenses.

And anyway, I have never been one to actively go around throwing things or smashing things or doing other things to things when I was particularly miffed. I have been one of the mind that one should never let his emotions rule their actions.

To be honest though, I really should have thought this a possibility. I set the cup of tea down on the table inside my personal tent and shook my head. "We should have seen this coming or thought about it in truth." I really should have thought about this.

Armies have exercises for a fucking reason!

Just look at a newspaper or two that actually knew what it was talking about, you would come across the odd report of one army or another holding a military exercise here or there with so and so. I was going to take a wild stab in the dark and guess to prepare for situations such as this.

"Aye, gathering and moving thousands of men takes time and effort, but for this?" Ser Roderick shook his head. "We should be faster than this. We trained the men for this. No excuses at all."

I waved Ser Roderick off. He was just being responsible. I don't even think military exercises were a thing in these sort of times. "No, you are right. There are no excuses for this utter shambles of a disaster, but I should have seen this coming and taken steps to address it."

Ser Roderick had a slight frown on a face. "I know, Your Grace, that you are an incredibly knowledgeable man, but are you saying that you are clairvoyant as well? If not, you could not have foreseen Lord Darklyn doing foul treason as such as he did."

"No, not about that." I said, stopping him as I slumped into a chair. I looked at the blood red roof of my tent. "About the time when it came to mobilising the army. As you said, Ser Roderick, gathering and moving such a large number of men takes time. We should have held exercises for such a thing." I snapped back right up and immediately started making notes. "In facts, that is what we are going to do from now on."

The General of the Royal Army raised an eyebrow. "Your grace?"

"After when this is all over and done, we are going to be holding military exercises to make sure that the army is prepared to meet any and all threats." I rambled on as I wrote down the memo on any piece of paper I could find. "In fact, we should ad the Royal Navy to this as well. Loading men and supplies. Making amphibious invasions, landings and all of that nonsense. I'm probably forgetting somethings, but we'll fine tune it out on a later date. This is nothing more than a rough draft after all."

I continued muttering to myself and adding more to the memo and somewhat forgetting about Ser Roderick in the tent with me. Credit to him, he kept himself quiet for the duration it took me long enough to put my hurried thoughts onto paper.

Looking over the memo, it was certainly a mess, but a mess that can be worked upon, cleaning it up and then making good use of it. Gods be damned, I was not going to suffer another situation like this if I had anything to do about it.

I crashed back into my chair again and crossed a leg one over another. "Okay, I'm done."

My good-father nodded his head before he spoke up again. "By now, Lord Darklyn should know that we are mobilising our forces."

Even if he didn't have spies in my army, anyone passing by the goldroad would have noticed the fact that men were coming in from all over the domains that I controlled and vassal houses underneath my direct control. Knights and the new militia that I had some of my younger knights-slash-officers had been training up in the villages and towns in my land.

"Would he know that we are coming for him directly?"

The near middle-aged men could only give me a shrug of the shoulders at my question. "You pay me to train your soldiers and lead your army. Not to spy on your enemies."

I smirked. "That's true."

Still though, I doubted Lord Bennar was a complete and utter fool. Sure, what he did, was completely foolish, but I liked to think that the act was enough to make him sufficiently paranoid enough to think that when my host was gathered, I was going to be gunning straight for him and make preparations to meet me.

If not, he was more a fool than I would think he would be.

"Would it be a siege or a field battle?" I asked, out of the blue.

The general rubbed at his chin in thought. "Me? I would put the stakes on a field battle. Duskendale is a large town. Second largest in the Crownlands. Loads of mouths to feed, so I wouldn't try to hold out for a siege, even if it means losing the advantages the town's fortifications."

"So a field battle then?" I got a shrug of the shoulders for my troubles, not that I could blame him. We were walking in the dark on this one and I was holding out for a siege battle.

There was something standing behind big castle walls that did wonders to a defenders moral. The same can also be said there could be something said about that said wall being smashed into dirt by cannons that did something to those very same old defenders walls.

Now I was just going off my own head canon and I certainly wasn't von Clausewitz or Napoleon or Suvorov or Wellington. I just happened to be a guy who had several of this particular worlds only working cannons.

Cannons that can smash down walls with some ease. That had to count for something, didn't it?

I wasn't particularly looking forward to any sort of field battle. Those involved charging and the Ninepenny War had filled me enough with my shares of charges.

That, and I wanted to use my cannons. Just for the sake of showing off royal power.

Note to self; should get Serret to see if he can work on mortars of some kind. I think those would be useful in a field battle? Probably.

"A certain lion has somehow found itself wondering into the wolves den."

"Wolves?" I repeated with a rise of the eyebrow as I looked at my good-father. "I'm quite certain the emblem that you are wearing right now is that of a dragon. What's this about wolves, goodfather?"

Ser Roderick gave me a playful grin. "Figured it sounded far better as the Wolve's Den rather than the Dragon's Den. And this lion, he came looking to be one of us."

"Tygett Lannister?"

He nodded. "Either that was a lucky guess or you already knew."

"Already knew." The last report I had of him was that he had been seen going back down the goldroad. I had figured he was going back to Casterly Rock after whatever talk he had with Tywin, seems like he ended up in my army. Now what was Tywin trying to accomplish here? "Is he going to be participating in this particular operation?"

Another note to self, I should have some of my own little birds inserted into the Army. And Navy. Can't forget about the Navy. Preferably both in the officer and enlisted ranks.

Ser Roderick scoffed. "He hasn't even finished basic orientation yet. He wasn't particularly happy to learn that I had set him aside for this. Lots of fire in that one. Anger too."

"Probably because you hurt his feelings."

"Well then, pardon my language your grace, fuck his feelings. If he is going to get emotional over every little thing, then he isn't going to get far. And I don't care what his name is or how much gold his family has."

I grinned at that last statement, that was exactly the sort of attitude I wanted. "Right, off with you general. I do believe you still have a job to do."

Ser Roderick gave me a quick nod. "By your leave, your grace." He said with a quick salute before turning crisply and leaving the tent.

Alone in my thoughts, I just figured out that by the time I make my way back to the Red Keep, people were going to have noticed that I had disappeared off to somewhere. My children were going to give me hell over that. 

**xXx**


	43. Chapter 43

**xXx**

Five days passed before we were finally able to finally begin our march towards Duskendale. This wasn't going to be my first taste of a march or a campaign, but I wasn't looking forward to it. All those movies and tv shows I had seen about soldiers campaigning had made it seem so much fun.

It really wasn't.

I was still slightly pissed off about the amount of time it took to get everybody together and as Optimus Prime would put it, 'roll out' but that was I guess, better than previous times according to Rodrik. Other times, I would have taken those words as something of flattery but I knew Rodrik and I happened to know that it had taken a whole lot of more time to get everybody up and ready to get ready for the Stepstones campaign.

With my experiences in that particular mobilisation, I think there was quite a lot of truth in Rodrik's words. This time, we were much quicker to actually set off. Although a couple of days were wasted in waiting along rally points on the king's road towards Duskendale to wait for my troops of trained militia to join up with the main force.

One of those troops that had happened to arrive late to it's rally point had been the one that was being trained by my very first squires. "I can't say I'm somewhat disappointed in you two."

Ryam's eyes looked away to the side slightly as Harry inclined his head in apology. "Apologies your grace. We should have done better."

The last of House Reyne scowled slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. "We had to chase down some of those bumpkins. Apparently, not all of them live within the vicinity of the village. No excuses though. You gave us a task and we failed to live up to it."

I raised an eyebrow at that statement before I asked them. "Can they fight?"

Harry and Ryam glanced at each other before nodding. "They know how to use a pike..." Harry began slowly but trailed off.

"But I really wouldn't trust them to hold a line as of yet." The green-eyed westerman finished for his friend. "They can't march in formation with pikes unlike the regulars. Are they better than your average everyday levy? Yes. But shit is still shit, no matter how you colour it."

"So glorified cannon fodder then?" I asked, a bemused smirk playing at the tip of my lips.

They looked at each other again. "Pardon?" They said in unison in confusion at the term that they had more than likely never heard off before.

I waved it off. "Never mind, it's nothing. I don't plan on using your militias as frontline soldiers. They'll serve as reserves as for any future engagement. It might never come to anything like that if Lord Bennar has half a brain."

There was a certain difference between them in terms of equipment and training. The most obvious of the two was training. The Militia was at best, hopefully, going to receive training for the equivalent of a month at best, perhaps more if times permit it, whilst it was more obvious that the regular army would find itself training on a near daily basis, whilst eventually, I hoped the both of them would eventually come to train together in manoeuvres and the likes.

It was early days, but I had hope for the future between the Militia and the Royal Army.

Now when it came to equipment, I was unapologetic to say that the regulars of the Royal Army came first in my in my list of priorities for people to be armed and armoured. The regulars got themselves a hand set of half-plate armour of the almain rivet variety that provided considerable protection whilst at the same time being rather cheap to produce, finished along with a lobster-tailed pot helmet that provided ample protection to the back of the neck, cheek, nose and with the forward facing rim protecting the eyes and face from any arrows coming in from above.

The Militia? Well, they got chain mail and a helmet. I planned to increase production to eventually be able to get them their own sets of munitions-grade armour, but that was still a little ways into the future. Didn't have enough blacksmiths working in my forges.

In other words, the Militia were basically part-time soldiers that I didn't pay. I paid enough for their initial equipment and they would get payments in the form of loot if they were ever going to be used.

"If Lord Bennar had half a brain, he wouldn't have committed treason, your grace." Harry remarked.

"True." I hummed in agreement. "And I wasn't blaming the two of you for being late. We are rather behind schedule as well. We should have set out nearly a week ago, but here we are, nothing we can do about that." I shook my head. "I suppose I had higher expectations for the two of you because of our history? Well, something like that anyway."

Ryam stepped forward. "Expectations well placed, your grace. We won't disappoint again in the future."

I looked at the both of them in the eyes and there was a resolute look in them. A one side smile came to my lips. "Alright then, I'll hold you to that in the future then lads. Right now, go back to your men, if you feel the need, continue training them, lightly. They still need to be able to march in the morning at first light."

"Yes your grace." They said at the same time and left not long afterwards.

I think I was beginning to be alright at this whole king thing. Maybe. As long as nobody knew about my insecurities, I was pretty sure I was good. 

**xXx**

Have I mentioned that campaigning is a bit of a bore? If not, I think I'll do so, campaigning is a bore.

During the day, we marched. That by itself isn't so bad, it just is when you have to take into account feudal politics into account. I wouldn't have minded being at the front of the vanguard, but again, feudal politics. Rodrik was a cool guy, I could handle that guy. So was Benjen as well, both being family through my wife. Ser Gwayne was pretty sick as well, being my protector ever since I was dropped into this hellhole and he had more than done enough to gain my trust.

I just didn't care much for the knights and lords that were directly underneath me squabbling – rather politely - among themselves to see who shall be riding beside me on a particular day. Any other time, I couldn't have cared less, but I at least had the basic understanding that a king's power, in a feudal government, dependent on whether his vessels actually liked him or not.

I could have just told them to leave me alone, but I sorted of needed them to like me for now.

So that was what essentially happened to me during the day. Lead the army with the day's honoured guest, either a lord or knight if they seemed rather important enough. Sometimes, they weren't even all that important in the grand scheme of things, like a couple hundred year old knightly house.

Gotta make sure to make it seem like I was the type of guy that cared for the little guy. Little things like that tended to go a whole long way in building loyalty.

During the night when we stopped after a day's march to make camp was a bit more difficult to judge. I had dinner with the lords, knights and the officers underneath me. Another something that I considered a bit of a chore that I had to undertake.

Not going to lie though, some of these 'lords' seemed more at home in one of those American films about university sororities. They drank just about as much as frat boys or lads and seemed to have a rather low bar when it came to humour. Mostly drunken sex jokes and everything in between.

On the other hand, I did rather enjoy it when I do go for a little bit of a gander afterwards and walk among the soldiers and talk to them. It was a bit of a silly thing to say that I would know everybody by sight or have met every regular, militia or levy during these little walk about of mine, but it did serve in build something of an image of me across the men that were going to be fighting and dying for me whilst I was safely protected by some of the best knights around in the rear as far away from any potential fighting as reasonably possible.

Did I feel bad when I thought about this? Yes. Did I care enough to try and change this to lead from the front? Hell no.

I liked being alive. I liked breathing. I did not like people trying to kill me.

It also helped that a bunch of people, not going to name any names, thought it was best for me to be seen, but not in combat, unless things get dyer. Hopefully, it would never come to that.

Since I didn't like fighting and I definitely knew I was never going to be one of those guys that would lead from the front, I decided it was probably best for me to be one of those guys that instilled a sense of loyalty in his men by sharing in their hardships, bar combat of course.

I walked amongst them at night. Talked to them. Ate with them. I even helped out a bit when it came to building camp fortifications. I always made sure to be seen so that word would be spread about.

I was sure that many of my lords didn't approve of these little habits of mine, but fuck 'em.

Tonight was just going to be another continuation of my PR campaign as far as people were concerned.

"You don't mind if I join you, do you lads?" I asked as I stopped in front of ten men that were seated around a camp fire.

The men looked towards me and recognised me. They scrambled to their feet as quickly as possible and immediately broke into a salute for me. "Y'grace!"

I smiled disarmingly at the group, motioning with my hands for them to relax. "Easy lads, didn't mean to interrupt your fun. Was just wondering if I could join that's all."

One of them, a hard looking men nodded. "We would be honoured to have you join us, y'grace."

I nodded and smiled again. "Then why don't we all take a seat then?" I asked as I sat down around the camp fire on a free spot. The soldiers followed suit as well, although I noticed that they seemed a bit stiff. I decided to break the ice with some casual chatter. "So what are you lads having then?"

From the corner of my eyes, I could see Ser Gwayne and his squad of Kingsguard taking positions around me. Although I was probably as safe as I could possibly be in this situation, in the middle of my own highly, armed camp, I didn't mind the knights doing the jobs I wasn't paying them to do.

Eyes glanced amongst themselves, as if asking which one of the ten was going to answer to the king. "Porridge and biscuit, y'grace." One of them finally answered. A young one as well. I think we were around the same age as well.

"Any good?" I already knew the answer as this wasn't the first time that I had asked that question.

All eyes darted towards the young soldier as he answered back. "Tis not bad at all, y'grace, does the job to fill the belly. Taste's rather bland though."

The young soldier got a shove on the soldier by one of the others who looked mortified. "Will!" He wasn't the only one. The soldier quickly glanced towards me. "Begging y'grace's many pardons. He meant nothing by that. He's a bit of a slow one. Doesn't know how to control his mouth."

I laughed. "It's fine lads. I've had a bit of a taste of the food, and I'm not going to lie to you lot, but the porridge and biscuits does taste rather bland. Will has the right of it." I finished with a nod in the direction of the young soldier.

Will beamed at his statement being acknowledged by the king.

"I currently have people working on it to add some variety to the meals. Give it time and there'll be more to eat that tasteless porridge and biscuit." I wasn't lying. I did have people working on it.

I was hoping to somehow eventually get proper canned food being manufactured. If I remember correctly, canned food vastly revolutionized the logistics of Napoleon's Grand Armee back in the day or maybe I was getting my history wrong.

I don't know. I've been here for a while so things were starting to leave me.

"Until then lads, just bare with the food for now. So enough about that, what can you lads tell me about yourselves?"

And like that, I spent an hour or so speaking with them, by the end of the hour, they were markedly less stiff at the start. Once I had left that group, I rinsed and repeated the process another three times before finally calling it a night and going to sleep. 

**xXx**

The smile on my face could not be any larger than it already was.

I think I had suitably creeped out quite a few of the lords, knights and officers that were in my retinue. Rodrik though, had seen it all and was carrying on as business as usual. "Seems like Lord Darklyn would rather suffer a siege rather than face us in the field."

Yes, Lord Darklyn, instead of riding out and trying to face us in the field had decided to hole up in his city.

That was why I had such a large smile on my face. I had been holding my hopes out on a siege and I had been given a siege! There was a god out there somewhere listening to my prayers. Determining whether that was a good thing or a bad thing was something I had yet to do, but I was revelling in my current spin of the dice going my way.

My luck had always been an iffy thing when it came to me.

"Reasonable." Lord Marcus Rosby grunted as his eyes looked over the port town. For a scion of a House that was hailed for always being a rather sickly lot, he seemed healthy as they came. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for his son, Gyles. Pale and thin, Gyles looked like a strong blow of wind would be enough to keel him over. "In the field, we would out-number him. From what we have learned, not many of his own vassals answered his call for aid."

Ser Jason Stokeworth nodded his head in agreement with that observation. "True, but numbers aren't the only thing that could settle the outcome of a battle."

Lord Marcus shrugged his broad shoulders. "Does it matter? Bennar has never been known for his prowess in battle or knowledge of it. If he had anything in that head of his, he wouldn't have gone to go about and commit treason against his liege."

The other lords in this little conference murmured in agreement, all the while, I just continued smiling as I looked on into the distance at the port town. Looking over the town, some of my knowledge of the universe, four-fifths Aerys' history lessons and one-fifth my own knowledge of the Song of Ice and Fire universe filtered into the forefront of my mind.

Before the Aegon Targaryen had conquered the Seven Kingdoms, Duskendale had been the principle port of what would become the crownlands. I think they had also been petty kings as well, before they were eventually subjugated by either the River Kings or the Storm Kings. Still though, the Darklyns did well for themselves being the only port town of note in this region.

Well, until King's Landing was built.

Considering that, I guess I could somewhat understand why Lord Bennar did what he did. He probably wanted to damage his town's competition to the trade market, but that still didn't absolve him of the bullshit that he had to make me suffer through.

"What would you have us do, your grace?" Rodrik asked as he looked at me.

I hummed for a moment. "Someone pass me a far-eye." A squire was quickly set off in search of one and returned in record time with one such far-eye. I snapped it out and looked towards Duskendale. It had nice, stout walls built out of grey stone that seemed like silver in the sunlight and in the distance, I could make out the Dun Fort sitting in the centre of the town atop a hill. "He's prepared to meet us. I see men on the walls."

"I'm surprised he hasn't made a run for it." Benjen remarked standing beside his uncle, looking in the direction of the town. He nodded in the direction of the port where there were scarcely any ships of note to be seen. "He could have sailed away with all his wealth to some place in the eastern cities or his friend in Tyrosh."

I blinked and looked towards the port.

...Benjen had the right of it. Bennar could have sailed off into the distance with all his wealth and there would be nothing that we could have done about it because the port wasn't being blockaded in the slightest.

I seriously needed to start thinking about this stuff, and why did Benjen just decide to point this out just now?

I shook my head trying to quell down the feeling of irritation that I had with myself. "Maybe he's trying to prove some sort of point? Or maybe go down in a blaze of glory? Won't know until we get the answers from the man himself."

Lord Marcus raised up a single bushy eyebrow. "You'll talk to him then?"

I nodded. "I'd like for no life to be lost today if it could be avoided. If that can be brought along by talking, then yes, I'll talk to him." I motioned at Ser Gwayne. "I leave Ser Rodrik of the planning, he knows what to do. He speaks with my voice, so follow his instructions."

"Aye, your grace." The lords murmured as they looked towards the northmen.

"Good." I said with a nod before I left them alone to listen to Rodrik as he began the meeting. With Ser Gwayne, I headed towards my horse were five knights of the Kingsguard waited for us. Apparently, nothing rather official happened in Westeros without it involving the number seven in one way or another. When I reached my horse, I hoisted myself up with a single motion and pulled at the reins to turn it in the direction of the castle. "Right, let's do this."

With a kick to the sides, I spurred my horse onwards towards a table that had been set up outside the range of the archers defending the castle and for added measure, a seven coloured flag was being held aloft to signify our intentions, to talk, to anybody that had any bright ideas. I vaguely remember reading a passage in the books about that particular flag doing nothing when it came to stopping people from trying to kill you.

But that was during the 'modern' ASOIAF period and the period that I happen to find myself in was supposed to be somehow, just a little bit better. I was sceptical, but it was a good thing armour existed for reasons like this.

When we finally reached the table, I pulled on the reins to bring a halt to my plucky war horse before unseating myself. Ser Gwayne did the same and walked beside me as I dropped myself onto a seat that had been left with the table. It groaned slightly underneath the weight of both myself and my expensively made armour, but it held.

"I suppose this is the part where we wait." Ser Gwayne noted as his eyes roamed across the battlements through his helmet, looking for any potential archer that might try to get a little sneaky.

"Hopefully," I began with a nod. "For not too long. Some of us have things to do."

We didn't have to wait for long.

The gate to the city opened and out came riders, numbering seven just like us. Ser Gwayne had moved a hand to grip at the hilt of his sword. Behind me, I could hear the neighing of the horses and from the corner of my eye, I noticed one of the Kingsguard nudge his destrier slightly to the right of me to give him a better position to judge in, in the event of treachery.

I was rather pleased that the good, honest gold I wasn't paying my Kingsguard was actually of being used rather well. Money well spent is what I thought about the whole thing.

The riders only had one banner between the lot of them. A single banner of fusily sable and or, upon a pale in dexter gules seven escutcheons argent. The banner of House Darklyn. It was nice to know that Lord Bennar himself was coming out to see him personally, not some pansy.

From the way the other lords had spoken off him, they had made him sound like some coward, then again, I really couldn't count on those lords to be honest about their view of the man since they were probably trying to get into my good graces.

It didn't take long for the opposite party to reach us and like me, Lord Bennar hoisted himself of his destrier and took his seat opposite me. I removed my helmet and placed it on the table to give the man a better look at my face as I smiled. "Lord Bennar, I do believe this is the first meeting between the two of us, is it not?"

Lord Bennar copied my actions in him removing his own helmet, leaving me to see the face of a middle aged man with signs of grey peppering what would have been a brilliant mane of hair and a beard as well. "Quite so, your grace. I happened to have been taken ill at the time of King Aegon's funeral, may he rest in peace in the heavens, and your coronation."

"I suppose this is a good a time as any to introduce myself." I inclined my head. "Aerys, the Second of His Name, of House Targaryen, King of...well, I'm pretty sure you know of my title." I leaned forward slightly to rest an arm on the table. "Fun really, I thought I happened to command your loyalty. You made an oath, did you not and yet..."

"I did what I had to do for the sake of my House."

"By trying to burn down my city?" I shook my head. "You could have done something less destructive as that, but in the end, it seems you have done nothing more than doom your House."

Lord Bennar's eyes narrowed at me. "Duskendale won't fall so easily. We have stocks of food, good knights, stout walls. I can continue, it is better for you to simply take your army and go home. How long can you continue to lay siege to my town whilst ruling the Seven Kingdoms? I will admit, my greed got the better of me in my dealing with the Silvertongue, but that is all I shall allow. I stand by the rest of my actions."

Okay then, it was settled. I was going to have to deal with Alequo Adarys the first chance that I got, but props for Lord Bennar to accepting the responsibility and consequences of his actions. Good for him.

"You expect me to just turn around and go home because of that?" I shook my head in amusement. "I don't know if you know this yet, but unfortunately, word is being spread around the continent that I have set off to bring you to bare for your treason. I just can't leave without my pound of flesh."

"One shouldn't make promises that they can't keep."

"Oh, I intended to keep this one and then some. I'll give you this one chance, my lord, surrender and take the black and I'll leave Duskendale in the hands of your family. It's a limited time offer, until the sun sets to be precise, if not..." I trailed off with a shrug of the shoulders.

Lord Bennar scoffed as he crossed his arms across his powerful looking frame. "What will you do? There is more at stake in this siege for you than me. The longer this goes on for you, the more many lords will question your ability to rule. As I said before, your grace, go home. There is nothing for you here."

This was going nowhere.

"My offer still stands, Lord Bennar. Sunset." I stood up and so did the lord after a second. I looked up into the clear sky. "I do think I smell something of a thunder storm coming. Good day, my lord." I finished, as I left him standing there, looking at me strangely as he looked between me and the sky.

…

That was horrible.

Good gods, I really needed to work on my one-liners. 

**xXx**

"It seems we have got his answer." Rodrik said as he looked into the west, where the sun had finally disappeared into the horizon, leaving us to be graced by as much light as the moon could afford to give us. "Should we begin, your grace?"

I sighed as I ran a hand through my hair. "Yes, go ahead."

At the end of the day, I really hoped this was going to end with as little casualties as possible.

My plan was simple. Lord Bennar had been proud in the strength of his walls and had been happy with the knowledge that we would bloody ourselves throwing men at them to take those very same walls. And if they did fall, then rough building-to-building combat would then follow, until he probably retreated all the way back to the Dun Fort, where more than likely, he would leave his elites and knights for a single counter attack that would try and break our own fatigued men.

Probably.

That was what I would, but then again, I was admittedly not any kind of military genius, a but a layered defence was something that I always did whenever I played defensively when it came to RTS games, although more often than not, I would abandoned the walls sooner rather than later. I was a street fighter through and through.

When it came to sieges, the defenders more than likely had more moral than the attackers. Looking at the walls that protected Duskendale was intimidating enough from this distance, I didn't want to think about it when assaulting them with ladders and the likes.

In that like, to spread out the defenders a little bit, I had my lords take their levies and knights to surround the town from the west and north, whilst I had my forces cover the southern flank. It also helped move the men away that were not used to the sounds of cannon fire breaking and running away.

Thank god I had introduced cannons, because the defenders where in for a rude awakening.

And hopefully enough for a blow to moral to not even bother fighting.

Rodrik turned to an archer that was standing nearby. "Alright, give the signal. Begin the barrage."

The archer nodded as he picked up one arrow. The arrow was strange in the fact that it had a fuse that was attached to a canister located where the head should have been. The archer lit up the fuse with a nearby fire before waiting for a second before firing it straight into the sky.

The arrow was basically a flare, but in a situation like this, it did wonders when it came to sending simple messages across long distances in a quick and timely manner. Progress in communication was being made.

Seconds passed before a bright, red flash of light bathed the area all around me.

That was soon followed by the dull roar of rolling thunder and flashes of lightning, but without a cloud in sight.

I felt sorry for the men that were closer to the cannons because just one of them had been enough for me to complain about how loud they were. I couldn't help but wonder how seven of them firing simultaneously were.

It was a good thing then that I had ordered for the rotating cannon crews to wear ear muffs to, at the very least, protect their ears.

"The militias seem to be holding out well." I observed from the hill that overlooked our position. "I had been half-expecting them to turn tale and run the moment the first cannon fired."

"You have to give them more credit than that." Rodrik said, bemused. "They might not be used to the sounds of the cannon being fired, but I think they've been trained well to not break ranks." At that moment, of the third volley being fired in the direction of Duskendale, some of the militia reserves broke off from their formations only to be stopped by their officers and marched back into formation. "Spoke too soon, by the looks of things."

I nodded. "We are going to have to address that in the future. Can't be having our own men fearing our own weapons."

"Those 'cannons' of yours are frightening little things though." Rodrik admitted. "Never seen or heard anything of the likes. Their sheer destructive potential..." He shook his head as he trailed off. "It beggars belief. You wouldn't mind sending a couple of them north, would you? I'm sure my brother would appreciate it."

"I'll think about it." I mused, although in truth, I had been to have some more cannons built and send north, although further north than Rodrik would particularly care about.

I brought our the far-eye and looked towards the Duskendale. It was difficult to make out the precise details in the little light that we had, but the Darklyns had been nice enough to post torches along the walls. Just enough light to see what was happening on the walls.

And completely and utter bedlam is what I saw on the section of the walls that was being targeted by the cannons. Men were running around, officers and knights trying to keep the discipline among the levies and the city watch that had been drafted to fight for them, although I did see some officers and knights panic as well.

I even had a chance to see some of the damage that my cannons were causing when another volley was fired. One solid ball of iron hit a merlon, chipping a part of it off as it bounced off wildly from it's trajectory to quickly decimate a group of men. Of course, the ball of iron had been moving at a speed fast enough that it had all been a quick blur that I would have thought it nothing more than a trick of the eye, but I had happened to see the damage done right in front of my eyes.

That had been a painful thing to see and horrifying. Hopefully, it would be even more horrifying for the men on the walls.

My cannons went the most accurate of things, being rather primitive and all. The target for the battery was the wall directly in front of us, but the cannons would fire over it or to the side, in other words, missing. But when they did hit, they did their job. I could see the impact craters made by the balls of iron that had made contact. They were like spider webs, starting off in one central area before branching offer and with each impact, more spider webs would be made.

I wondered how long it would take for this section of the wall to finally topple down to the ground. I was hoping for before I ran out of shot and ammo.

I also made a note to make sure that more cannons should be built, just having one battery was rather silly.

"How does it look?" Rodrik asked.

I passed him the far-eye. "Not bad. The cannons are causing enough terror among the defenders and doing decent damage to the walls, but I doubt they are going to be falling down any time soon."

Rodrik moved the far-eye across the wall and made a sound. "Quite impressive. Wouldn't mind having more though, more damage might be caused."

"What I thought as well. I'll see it done when we make our way back to the capital." I looked in the direction of the west. "I wonder how the others are doing. I hope they are not just throwing men at the walls."

"They might try a night attack." The northern general said with a shrug. "They might not. If I was them though, I would rest my men before doing any sort of assault." Another roar of the cannons filled the night. "Well, that's if they can get any sort of rest tonight with those things firing away."

"It might not be so bad for them." I tried to recall my high school knowledge of how sound worked and was confident that it would be a suitable enough of a sound for them not to be surprised with. Still though, it didn't hurt to have warned them about the potential noise the cannons were going to cause. I stifled a yawn. "Well, I'm going to go take a nap. You know where to find me if something interesting happens."

Rodrik nodded. "Aye, your grace." 

**xXx**

"Your grace?"

I squinted as I was brought out of my nap. "Gwayne? What is it? Has something happened?"

"Yes, your grace."

I rose up from the bed in my palanquin and tried to will away the sleep that was creeping on the edges of my eyes. I also tried to get my brain to get itself into gear. "What is it?"

"It's about Lord Darklyn, your grace."

I groggily got to my feet and my hand searched for my sword that I had left on the side of the bed. "What about him?"

"He's surrendered."

"He's...what?"

"Lord Darklyn." Ser Gwayne began to repeat. "He's surrendered."

It took a while for that to register with me, but eventually, what Gwayne was telling me registered with my brain. Not exactly how I had expected things to end, but I would take it. There was only one thing that could be said about this whole thing.

"Cool." 

**xXx**

The sun was shining, the birds were singing and Lord Bennar Darklyn was dressed simply as he stood in front of me. None of the lordly finery that one would find on a lord of his stature was on anywhere of his persons, only rough wool spun clothes.

I'm not going to lie, this had been rather quick. My battery didn't even manage to destroy the wall they had been going for, but had done enough damage to make the lord worried. That and the fact that he cannon fire had been terrifying his men to the seven hells and back.

Apparently, none of them had ever heard of cannon fire before.

Surprising.

"We meet again, Lord Darklyn."

He grunted as he nodded. "That we do your grace."

"I'm sure you know what's going to happen now?" He nodded again. "Good, then we can end this farce as quickly as possible and everybody goes their own way. Lord Bennar Darklyn, you are hereby commanded to take the black. Escort shall be provided for your journey north, along with any other men willing to join you in the honourable service of the Night's Watch. Your son and heir, Denys Darklyn shall become a guest at the royal court until he is of age to rule Duskendale and take oath of fealty to me along with a bunch of other stuff. Look, it's just a little after dawn, I'm tired, everybody's tired, the sun is shining, so let's call it a day and go home." There was some sniggering among the assembled lords that were bearing witness to this. I motioned at the guardsmen looking over Lord Darklyn. "Alright, take him away."

The guardsmen did just that and took Lord Darklyn away to be placed on a boat heading straight for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.

I stood up and looked around at the attended lords and knights. "I would be the first to admit my lords and sers, I had expected a bit more blood when it came to ending this, but i'll be more than willing to take this as a win. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you for your service and worry not, you shall be dully rewarded for your actions."

The lords and knights cheered and I smiled and waved through it all. My men had done the most out of everybody here, so I didn't know what service they had provided for me here, but whatever, I had to be generous. Feudal obligation and all that. 

**xXx**

We had only been on the Kingsroad back towards King's Landing that we were met by a messenger. "Thank you." I said as I took the scroll and began to read it and slowly couldn't contain the smile that was coming across my face.

"You have one of those weird smiles of yours again. What's all this about now?" Benjen asked.

I passed the letter over to him. "Alequo Adarys is dead."

"Killed by his own queen no less." Benjen said with amusement in his voice.

"I know! That makes it even better. Not going to lie though, I had been thinking of ways to deal with him and Tyrosh, but it's nice to know that my problems are solving themselves without needing anything from me."

"Well, to be honest, the whole Duskendale fiasco needed you to personally solve it, so that's not technically true."

I waved him off. "Don't take this away from me. I need it."

I needed all the luck I could get in Westeros. One way or another, all this good luck was going to come crashing down on me, and until then, I was going to enjoy every single damned thing that was coming my way.

It would be at this point that I would normally say something that would tempt the fates, but I wasn't going to risk it. I was smarter than that.

After that sort of news, the journey back to King's Landing was nothing more than a pleasurable stroll for me and there was nothing that could ruin my day. Man, sometimes, it was good to be the king. 

**xXx**

 _ **Preview**_

Cersei twirled in her dress, her red skirts with gold lacing dancing around here. She stopped perfectly in front of her mother who lay resting on a long chair. "Do you think father will like it?" She asked as she tugged at the sides of her dress.

Her mother smiled at her, her own green eyes softening as she did so. "I'm sure he will, sweetling. I had that dress specially made for the occasion."

Although Joanna Lannister was heavy with child, soon to be born from what Cersei had heard of the castle servants speaking, she was still as majestic and radiant as the sort of proud lioness that she was. And beautiful as well.

So beautiful that she hoped to be just as beautiful in the future.

At hearing her mother's words, Cersei beamed widely. That was excellent news to hear. She hadn't seen her father in so long and there was only so much letters could convey over the large distances. It would be ever so lovely for her to speak to her father face to face after so long.

Her mother's eyes were alight with mirth. so was the smile on her lips. "Excited are you?"

Cersei nodded her head in such a manner that made her recoil that she had forgotten that she was a lady of the highest noble birth. And a Lannister at that. "Yes. It's been too long. I know Jaime misses him as well."

Her mother continued to smile as she spoke. "Yes. The two of you are rather...close."

"Well, we are twins after all! Why shouldn't we be close?"

"True." Joanna's laugh rang throughout her chambers. Her mother winced slightly as she touched her swollen belly.

Cersei rushed towards her in worry. "Are you alright mother?"

"Yes. I'm fine." Her mother reassured her as she touched her belly. "Just the babe, kicking as he does. Feel for yourself." She finished as she placed one of Cersei's hands onto her belly.

Cersei's face scrunched up slightly as she tried to feel for the babe before shaking her head. "I don't feel anything."

"Maybe he's just hiding."

"He?" She asked. "It's going to be a boy?"

"May haps, it might very well also be a girl." Joanna's slender shoulders rose up and down as she shrugged them. "Only the gods know. Would you like to have a baby brother?"

Cersei thought about it for a few moments before tilting her head slightly to the side. "I-I don't know? I would love a little sister, but I would also love a little brother." Her eyes widened in glee. "Perhaps it would be both! Twins like me and Jaime! Oh, we would be ever so close!"

Her mother laughed. "Unfortunately it won't be twins, sweetling."

Cersei deflated at that before quickly regaining her composure. "How would you know? Like you said, only the gods would know."

Her mother winked at her then. "A mother would know about this. Especially if it involves twins."

She eyed her mother then but decided to go with her wisdom. She was older and wiser, so she would know. So she decided to ask her mother about something that she had heard in passing among the servants.

"Is it true that the king is coming with father?" She asked as innocently as possible.

Her mother raised an eyebrow and Cersei thought that she was going to be denied the answer before Joanna eventually answered. "Yes. The king is accompanying your father on his journey back to Casterly Rock."

"Does that mean that...?"

Her mother sighed bemusedly. "Yes, the royal children are with him as well."

Joanna laughed at the sheer sound of glee that escaped Cersei's throat much to her horror. Cersei was quick to control herself, despite the sheer breadth of excitement that was within her at the news that the Crown Prince was coming to Casterly Rock. It was said that the royal children were all unearthly beautiful and handsome, with the Crown Prince the most handsomest of them all.

"You would like that, would you?" Joanna asked. "The royal children visiting us."

Cersei eagerly nodded her head. "Yes. Oh so very much." She would also like to be a princess and perhaps even a queen.

Her mother tapped her on the head. "And I guess you would like it even more to be a princess."

Cersei was taken aback, was she that obvious? She looked away, a blush on her face. "What of it?"

Joanna laughed gently at her reaction. "It's nothing to be ashamed off sweetling. To be a princess is every girls dream once upon a time."

The young lion cub turned to face her mother. "Then yes, I would very much like to be a princess, mother."

There was something in her mother's eyes. Something that Cersei couldn't discern, but just as quick as it had come, it was gone. "Well, I suppose a princess is still a princess, isn't it, sweetling?"

The young daughter of the Rock cocked her head slightly to the side in confusion as her mother's words. "Mother?"

Her mother blinked before smiling somewhat sheepishly at her, the sort of smile Cersei recognised the one her mother wore when she was being naughty. "Oh nothing sweetling, just the ramblings of an old maid. Pay no attention to it."

Cersei's eyes narrowed ever so slightly on her mother, much to Joanna's amusement before she eventually relented. "If you say so mother."

Joanna laughed as she held out a hand. "Now why don't you take your bloated mother for a walk? I think it will do me some good." 

**xXx**


	44. The World Turns

**xXx**

 **Duskendale**

"This is a complete nightmare." Marvyn grumbled as he flipped over another page in the ledger. "I thought accounting practices had been switched to the King's Method?"

Working by the light given by the candles and torches located around the room, Jon's quill scratched into the paper as he entered in the debits and credits of the Darklyns into a more manageable form than the confused monstrosity that was in front of him. "Do you honestly think all of the high lords in the realm would follow the king's decrees for something as small as 'counting coppers'?"

Marvyn made an indiscernible sound. "I expected more from a lordly house that ruled a coastal city that sees as much trade as Duskendale does."

Jon could do nothing but at the very least give a nod in agreement with that statement. "Then it is up to us to bring Duskendale up to standards. So less complaining, more working. The sooner we make more sense of the accounts, the quicker it is for us to go about doing the job that His Royal Highness gave us."

Marvyn didn't give a verbal response but from the periphery of his vision, Jon was able to see the younger man give an incline of the head to show that he understood. For Jon, that was good enough and he was quick to turn all of his attention to his own task at hand.

But Jon was aware enough to give to Marvyn that the young man had something of a point. Years back, when King Aerys was nothing more than a prince and Good King Aegon still ruled the Seven Kingdoms, the prince's men, newly educated and shown the way of his more efficient method were sent about throughout the kingdoms to all the lordly houses, to show people how his method of bookkeeping worked.

To say that it was revolutionary was an understatement. The King's Method, or as it was used to be called the Prince's Method when Prince Aerys was still nothing more than a prince, was a clear and simple way of paying observation as to where coin came from whilst at the same time, where coin would be spent at.

If there ever came a time when someone ever got too greedy for their own good, the method also made it far easier for the bookkeeper to check where the discrepancy was coming from and investigate any unsavoury attitudes. It was magnificent in truth.

It was said King Aerys was blessed by the gods by the amount of ideas and notions that seemed to come out of his head, but Jon was a learned man. He was less inclined to believe in divine intervention, even if some of those interventions was something that even maesters had yet to come grips with. All in all, Jon had an inkling that the King's Method was more than likely an appropriated form of bookkeeping the Braavosi had been able to keep secret for hundreds of years.

The how was lost on him, and it wasn't in Jon's job description to ask questions as why his king knew things that the Braavosi had been able to keep secret for hundreds of years. He was merely employed as a high ranking 'civil servant' that was tasked with helping of making sure that the Seven Kingdoms ran as smoothly as possible.

And he couldn't help but curse the Darklyns in their arrogance of not adopting to the newer method of bookkeeping. If they had done so, he would by now, already know what he was working with and from there, beginning moulding Duskendale into the vision that was set out by King Aerys.

A grumble nearly escaped from his mouth at the lot of his luck, but he stopped himself from realising it. Instead, he opted for rubbing the temple of his head with a free hand, the pressure he was applying to the action less soothing and more of a minor pain than he had initially hoped it would do for his frustration.

An action that Marvyn was able to catch him doing. "Jon?" He asked, and was that some worry in his voice? Perhaps. "Is something the matter?"

There was a lot of things the matter, but that was for him to see to rather than complain. He was a professional, not some pampered Dornishman lazing about in the sun. "No, it's nothing." He glanced towards the window to look into the night. "Gods, is it that late already?"

Marvyn glanced towards the window for a moment before his eyes flickered back to Jon. "It's been dark for a while now, Jon."

"Time seems to fly when you are having fun." The king's man mumbled just loud enough for him to be heard. He marked the page that he was on before closing the ledgers in front of him. "I think I've kept you long enough Marvyn. Go get some rest, I'll be needing you fresh and ready for tomorrow's work."

Or was it morning's work? Hopefully, it was not yet past midnight.

Marvyn nodded as he did to put away his own ledgers. "And you?"

"I'll get some rest as well. No point in doing all this work whilst craving a nice bed to sleep in, yes?" He asked, washing a hand over the books.

Marvyn chuckled. "Aye sir. I'll be leaving then. Good night, sir."

"You too, Marvyn."

The door made a soft sound when Marvyn left, leaving Jon alone in his assumed office. He looked again at the window and then at the stack of books in front of him. He then lifted open a cover. "I suppose one more book wouldn't hurt. One more then I'll go take to my own bed." 

**xXx**

 **Braavos**

The bastard daughter of Valyria was a grey city full of fog, rain and the occasional bout of cold winds. And it was still only summer. It was to be expected in truth, Braavos was located further north than Driftmark, so the warm winds and kisses of the sun of his youth was something that Alyn was going to have to confine to the memories of his youth.

Ser Jeremy Hightower plucked a grape of it's bundle as they continued onwards towards their destination. A destination that was becoming more and more visible the nearer they became. "Dare I say, I think this is a far more comfortable ride than I had expected. Better than a horse or a carriage."

Their guide, a Braavosi official by some blasted name that was difficult for the tongue to say could only smile pleasantly. "You would be pressed to find a road in Braavos. Near all of our trade and travel is taken through our many canals. It makes for far easier and less costlier mode of transportation."

Ser Jeremy nodded his head in understanding. "Exactly. That's the reason as to why to this day and age, all meaningful travel and trade is done by ships. It is and shall always be cheaper. That I can agree to." Another grape was flickered into his mouth and his jaw quickly went to chomping down on it. "Truth be told, I've always had an affinity for the sea, but I suppose I shall take this canal a close second."

"Water is water to us of Braavos." Their guide replied with a vague shrug of the shoulders. "An element that we have garnered for our own use and strength."

"That, and coin." Alyn said quietly as his eyes roamed across the spacious packed buildings that dotted the lagoon Braavos was located in. It was only after Ser Jeremy guffawing reached his ears that did he realise that he had said something out loud.

His eyes darted towards their guide – Lazzaro Fantagar, that was his name! - and caught him looking at him in amusement. Lazzaro dipped his head slightly. "Yes, water and coin. I shall not deny that one of the two is something that we are more known for." He shrugged his shoulders more noticeably this time. "It is, what it is."

Alyn was caught short with a reply of some kind, but Ser Jeremy was able to stop an awkward blunder from his occurring as he went off when something caught his attention. "I have to say, you Braavosi are a mute people. I've seen nothing more than greys, purples and black for the clothing. The only people that seem to have some life in them are those lot that walk around like peacocks!"

"Those would be the Bravos, Ser Jeremy." Alyn told the man as he made himself comfortable again in the boat. "From my understanding, dressing so flamboyantly is how they identify each other." His eyes roamed around the walk ways and streets they passed. "I do believe they only come out at night?"

Lazzaro nodded his head in confirmation. "That is true, Ser Alyn. Well, in part, but the night of Braavos does belong to them. When night falls, all the people of good repute retreat to their homes until the morn."

Ser Jeremy rubbed at his jaw, scratching at the bushy black beard that nearly hid his throat from view. "Ah yes, I've heard a little bit about these bravos during my travels. I hear they are good with a sword?"

"Some, not all." Lazzaro replied with a pleasant expression on his face. "Although their constant duelling amongst themselves in the nights eventually results in the truly talented and exceptional ones making themselves known. A word of advice, my lords, if you come to find yourself walking the streets and walkways of Braavos at night, carry no sword. They shall not trouble you at all."

Alyn didn't like that advice as he frowned. "I think I'll keep my sword then, no matter the time or day. One can never be too prepared."

Once again, Lazzaro Fantagar gave that vague shrug of his shoulders. "Very well, if you say so. It cannot be said that I did not warn you." He looked forward and smiled gently as he brought their attention to the front of them. "We are here, my lords. Welcome to the Sealord's Palace. I hope you have a pleasant discussion with the Sealord."

Alyn wasn't all that astounded by the sheer size of the Sealord's Palace, although to his reckoning, the Palace wasn't the tallest building in Braavos. The Titan of Braavos stood taller. The Palace itself was a building of muted colours that Alyn had quickly come to accept as the norm for the Braavosi that was composed of domes and towers. A spire rose into the sky and due to the fog, it was difficult to make out for what it was that Alyn thought he was seeing nothing more than a trick of the eyes, but after blinking for a few moments, he noticed that something atop that spire was spinning.

He wondered what the purpose of such a contraption.

Lazzaro was the first one to step off the boat. "If you would follow me please."

Ser Jeremy Hightower smiled brightly as he stepped of the boat as well. "Well, what choice do we have? You know this place better than me or my young companion do!"

"Yes, that is very much true." Their guide replied with a gentle chuckle.

Alyn noted that the man was good at this. For all he knew, Lazzaro could very well find Ser Jeremy's excessive friendliness to be nothing more than irritating and yet, Lazzaro never seemed to give a single iota of his inner thoughts of what he thought about Ser Jeremy or Alyn himself.

Lazzaro led them towards the building that was the centre of Braavosi government. When they passed through the arching, ancient doors that led them inside, Alyn found the beating of his heart pounding in ears. Perhaps he was nervous? Why would he not be nervous?

The Sealord was amongst one of the most powerful men in the world. Questions would have to be asked of him if he didn't feel a slight inkling of dread or nervousness in the coming meeting.

If Ser Jeremy was feeling the nervousness that he was feeling, he didn't show it as he looked around the corridors where they passed one functionary after another, few of them sparing any of them a secondary glance at best as they went about to do their duties. "Pretty place. Is it made out marble?"

"Yes."

"All of it?"

Lazzaro mused for a few moments before he spoke again. "Most of it, I would say, but certainly not all of it. After all, is the Red Keep completely made out of red stone?"

Ser Jeremy and Alyn shared a look between the two of them. "Yes."

Alyn might have been seeing nothing more than a trick of the eye, but he was sure that their guide had nearly missed a step. But maybe not. In other words, he was going to go with a version of the event that Lazzaro had indeed, missed a step.

"That must have been...costly." Lazzaro eventually found the words to say.

"Our Targaryen overlords have a tendency to go for the grandiose!" Ser Jeremy laughed out. "I mean, have you not heard of the tales of our Good King Aerys and his many contraptions?"

Lazzaro gave them a warm, thin smile at the question. "We've heard much and much more about your young king. Interesting fellow to say the least..."

They eventually came to a wide room that only had one large ornate door guarded by two men in quarter-armour with halberds standing at full attention. So still where they that Alyn could have mistaken them for statues if not for the slight movement of their eyes when it came to appraising them for threats.

Lazzaro stopped them short of the door. "I shall go inform the Sealord that you are without. Please, stay here. It shall not be long."

Alyn and Ser Jeremy nodded and with that confirmation, Lazzaro made for the doors that by some unseen command or action, had begun to open inwards with nary a sound. Alyn was quite curious as to how that worked. Was there some sort of spotter that gave the signal to open the doors when someone approached?

If so, where were they? Hidden from view from somewhere in this very large room? Or perhaps it was one of the guards with some sort of device that gave notice? So many questions and he doubted he was ever going to learn the truth of it.

"Nervous?" Ser Jeremy asked calmly. Well, as calmly as the boisterous Hightower could ever be. His voice still boomed round the cavernous room like rumbling thunder.

"Not at all." Alyn remarked with clear calmness to the tone of his voice. He peered at the older and taller man beside him. "Are you nervous, Ser Jeremy?"

Ser Jeremy's lips crept up one side of his face to form a bemused smirk. "You cheeky little..." He trailed of with good humour. "That's good. Don't be nervous, not that it's bad to be nervous. Just don't come off as cocky. Cocky can sometimes be even worse than nervousness, depending on the situation."

Lazzaro's reappearance from the room within cut off any further conversation between the two of them. Their guides deer skin boots made a soft rhythmic sound as the heels hit the marble floor. Click, click, click, click. There wasn't a single misstep as he did so before he eventually stopped shot in front of them.

"The Sealord will see you now." Was all he said as he stepped aside to give them way towards the Sealords personal offices.

Alyn raised an eyebrow. "You are not joining us?"

Lazzaro only gave them an amiable smile. "I'm only a middle functionary. I have done the duty that was given to me, the rest consists of things that are far beyond me."

The two lords from the Sunset Kingdoms nodded their heads as they walked past Lazzaro and the two guards. Behind them, the doors silently closed behind them, the only sound they made being the click of them being locked.

For the personal offices of one of the most powerful men in the world, there was a certain sparse aesthetic the room had been decorated in. It wasn't to say that ostentatious wealth had not been spent, but Alyn had been expecting something more from the room. Especially considering the wealth that House Antaryon and Braavos was supposed to hold, he had expected...more to say the least.

Instead, all he could see where several paintings and tapestries hanging perfectly on the walls along with a giant, gold seal of the Sealord's office hanging directly behind the man himself. "Ser Jeremy Hightower, Lord Alyn Velaryon, it is a pleasure." The Sealord spoke as he rose from his chair to his feet.

The Sealord's command of the Common Tongue was impeccable. He didn't even speak with a hint of an accent and anyone could have mistaken the man for a Westerosi if they didn't know any better.

Ser Jeremy smiled widely as he returned a greeting of his own. "The pleasure is all ours, Lord Antaryon. I have to say, I'm quite surprised by the sheer speed of the arrangement of this little meeting of ours."

"Oh, I wouldn't call it 'little' by any means." Ferrego Antaryon replied with a gentle smile on his face. He motioned a hand to a pair of richly decorated seats in front of his desk. "Please, take a sit. I beg you."

The two of them complied with wordless nods of the heads as they took the seats in front of the Sealord. It was whilst he had taken the seat that Alyn noticed something that he hadn't been able to notice before. Either it was just him or something else, but he was sure that the desk was somewhat elevated from where he sat. In other words, it forced him and Ser Jeremy to slightly look up towards the Sealord to look at him in the eyes.

That was a neat little trick of sorts.

Ser Jeremy wiggled about in his seat for a moment before relaxing as he leaned back. "This is perhaps the most comfortable chair I have ever sat in, in my entire life."

Ferrego Antaryon smiled. "Please, I'm sure you have sat in more comfortable chairs in your long life, Ser Jeremy. But it warms my heart that you would praise the leather workers of Braavos as so. It is nice to know when we are doing something right."

Ser Jeremy let out a good chuckle at that. "Just so, Lord Antaryon. Now, as Sealord of such a wonderful city as Braavos, I'm sure you have much on your time. Perhaps we can move on to the finer points of our meeting."

The bluntness of Ser Jeremy caught Alyn off-guard. He had come to know the Hightower knight as an honest man who would rather go straight to the point, but he didn't expect for the man to do just that so soon. Especially in the halls of their current guest.

The Sealord gave a simple incline of the nod as he pulled out a sheaf of papers from the side. "Very well, Ser Jeremy. I have read the documents from your king and they are certainly...interesting to say the least."

Ser Jeremy leaned forward, a single arm resting on the armrest of the chair. "And? Have you come to a decision?"

"Yes." The Sealord flicked over some of the pages. "We accept the terms of the agreement of your king. The Iron Throne has been granted permission to create an official residence for their envoys in Braavos and as so, Braavos itself shall have such an official residence for it's envoys in King's Landing."

Ser Jeremy laughed out loudly. "Excellent, His Grace would be most pleased to hear this news."

"And now, on to other matters that didn't see such a speedy resolve among the magisters and keyholders..." 

**xXx**

 **King's Landing**

"It seems we'll be having that dinner with the Rogarres in the near future." Aerys informed him as he looked over the days documents that needed his attention.

Duncan made a sound as his eyes glided over another document that he meant to pass over to his nephew and king. "I'm not invited to that am I?" He had nothing against Maegor or the Rogarres, he just didn't feel the particular need to be friendly with them.

Aerys stopped for a moment, his royal seal that had been dabbed in wax just hovering just a few inches short above the document he had meant to stamp. "He's family."

"How many times removed?" He asked, eyebrow quirked in good humour. "At some point, it stops being family and people that we are related through so and so. The Penroses happen to be related to us, yet I don't hear you claiming them to be family."

The king hummed for a moment before speaking. "I suppose you have a point, but for this one, this is rather important. Maegor will be in charge of the Royal Bank of Westeros."

"Thank the gods I was able to convince you not to use that deplorable name." The Dragon Bank of Westeros? His nephew had a rather strange fascination with dragons.

Hopefully, it won't lead to something dangerous, but it was best that he kept an eye on him, just in case. Many a Targaryens had cut their lives short with fascinations and obsessions with dragons. He loved Aerys, quite the strange child that he was and would love for him to live a long and happy life with that northern wife of his.

But most importantly, Lucerys was still only a child and in the event of something happen to Aerys, gods forbid, he would most likely become Regent of the young prince whilst in his minority. There was something about that he didn't particularly like the sound off.

"It was a good name. A brilliant name." Aerys grumbled. "I swear, you and grandmother seem intent on stopping me from having some fun in my life."

"Fun is nice and all, but really Aerys? The Dragon Bank? Your sense of naming brings me a whole lot of embarrassment I wasn't even aware I could feel."

The young king shook his head as he eventually pressed his seal into the document and moved onto the next. A single gold-silver eyebrow rose up his brow as he read the contents. "They need more men and coin? How many men and coin do they need?" He asked, his tone exasperated.

Wondering what he was talking about, Duncan leaned forward slightly to look down the paper and grimaced when he understood the nature of the document. "Perhaps that is something that should be left in the, as you would say, back burner. For all time in truth."

Aerys shook his head. "No, no. This is important. We always knew that it was going to be costly, that's the reason why we sold shares in the company in the first place. Seems like we need to raise more coin then."

"Sell more shares?" Duncan suggested as he tried to think of any potential buyers that could have an interest in the project. "The Manderlys, Freys, Lannisters are a few I can name of the top of my head. There's also merchant houses and Houses along the Mander that we can approach, as well as raise the required coins through loans from the Iron Bank."

"We could do that," Aerys said with a nod. "But I figured something like this could happen. Large infrastructure projects always end up costing more than they are estimated to cost which means it's always in the best interest to have more money in reserve for situations like this. Just in case though, we might need to sound some potential investors into the project."

"The Hightowers and Tyrells are already invested as much as they can in this. The Hightowers more than the Tyrells."

Aerys was silent for a moment before asking. "Who is Brunel Bardisam?"

Duncan thought for a moment as he tried to put a face to the name, much like how Aerys was more than likely doing as well. After a while, both of them looked at each other in silence as they had both come to the conclusion that they didn't know this particular individual.

"Is he anyone important?" Duncan eventually asked.

"I don't know," Aerys muttered as he passed him the letter in question. "According to that letter, this Brunel fellow has been badgering Lord Anthony quite a few times about surveying the route for the canal as accurately as possible."

"In other words, Lord Anthony is complaining about something once more."

The king shrugged. "It seems like it. Why did you make me place him charge of this entire thing again?"

"He has a link in engineering from the Citadel. In other words, he's the only lord in Westeros with such a background suitable for a task of this magnitude."

"Some would say he barely qualifies to be a lord."

"None the less, he is still a lord." Duncan rolled up the letter and placed it into a pocket in his coat. "I'll have someone look into his, Bardisam character."

This canal was beginning to seem like it was not worth the effort of trouble that it was causing. How did Aerys convince him to go along with this? Ah, he remembered now. Something about it cutting down the travel time for ships from the east coast of Westeros to travel to the west coast without having to go around Dorne.

"Think about it uncle! The sheer implications of what this canal could do for travel, trade and commerce for the entire realm. It might be costly as of now, but eventually, it will do more than pay back it's share of initial costs in the amount of coin it would be bringing us in revenues that we might as well be swimming in gold dragons by the end of it!"

Aerys might have been exaggerating somewhere in his rants about this canal, but he had been convincing enough at first. And it seemed he had actually thought about this well enough to spread out the initial cost through several investors from the Arryns of Gulltown to the Tyrells and Hightowers to others.

Speaking of Dorne, when news reaches them about the canal, he doubted that they were going to be completely thrilled about this. If what his nephew was saying to be true, Dorne was going to have to prepare itself from seeing a tremendous fall in the amount of traffic it was going to be seeing in it's ports.

Did Aerys realise this? A quick glance at his nephew and he doubted it.

I should probably try and see if I could do something to placate Dornish anger when it eventually rears it's ugly head. He paused in his thoughts for a moment. And possibly have an increased guard on the work camps for this canal.

They were already invested into the building of this canal, if anything, despite his thoughts, Duncan didn't want to see this investment come to see a bad fate because of...knives in the dark.

"Aerys, I have to ask, Lord Bennar-."

Aerys raised a single hand to stop him. "Grandmother has already given me this particular talk, uncle. Did I let Lord Bennar Darklyn off too easily? Some might say that."

"I may have come to be aware that you gave him a deal, a deal that he didn't keep, but nonetheless, you still punished him as if he had kept to the terms of the initial offer."

Aerys gave him a look. "And here I figured that the Kingsguard was supposed to keep all of my secrets until death."

"Well, it's not really a secret in truth. It was in their reports."

"Alright, I forgot about that."

"You have a tendency to forget your own policies that you have invoked. That is somewhat worrying."

"Well, I guess that's why you are here uncle, to make sure that I keep on the straight and narrow." Aerys flashed him a grin then, before he continued speaking on their original topic. "Frankly, Lord Bennar had suffered more from the entire ordeal than we did. We didn't have a single casualty on our side. They saw several dozen deaths, thanks to yours truly."

"And what happens when Denys Darklyn eventually returns to Duskendale with thoughts of revenge or rebellion for the fate of his lord father?" Duncan asked.

Aerys seemed taken aback by the question. "He won't. He will be raised here like one of my own. He'll be friends with Luc, Dany and Theon. He won't go against him if he's taught in the correct and proper manner."

"Blood is thicker than water, Aerys." He told his nephew. Sometimes, Aerys was strangely optimistic for a sceptic. "Denys might very well think that slighting his former friends in revenge for his lord father is well and truly worth it to strike his banners for rebellion."

Aerys face turned to stone for a few moments before he breathed out a sigh. "If he so wishes for it, Denys might strike his banners in rebellion or revenge against me for his father's treatment, but he'll have a hard time ahead of him when the time comes to get any meaningful resources for his meaningless quest for revenge if he ever so takes it up." He paused for a moment. "And anyway, why does everyone speak as if I killed Lord Bennar? He's still very much alive and breathing on the wall, which might as well be the same thing, but he's still breathing."

"You don't have to convince me of that, Aerys. You might have to eventually convince the child that you stole a father from."

"Then I'll simply be the father that he lost." He took another letter from the pile at the side. "These things always workout in ways we never expect them to, uncle. Best you can is make sure that the cards are firmly stacked in your deck and favour." 

**xXx**


End file.
